


Balestra

by CourierNinetyTwo



Series: Mafia Blake AU [6]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 42,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after And The Raven Shall Dwell In It, there are wedding bells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Balestra: In fencing, a type of footwork preparation, usually followed by a lunge. It is faster than a step forward, which helps change the rhythm and timing of moves. The French term for ‘sudden leap’.

Weiss twisted the ring on her finger until the point of the gem was aligned with her knuckle.

To call it black almost seemed like an understatement; the facets were sharp and unclouded, a sliver of darkness bound and cut to fit into the setting. Three weeks with it on her hand and she was starting to get used to the weight of silver on her right, the reflection in the mirror when the ring glittered under light and flame. Like so much else in her life, it was a deception — not a precious stone but a hollow teardrop of glass, filled to the brim with  _dwal_ , otherwise known as deadly nightshade. A single leaf or berry was a lethal dose, but this poison was strained to the utmost purity, enough to rot the blood within minutes. The tiniest hinge concealed a needle along the loop she could extend with a flip of her thumb, plunging it like an insect’s sting into someone’s flesh. Trust that even Blake’s engagement band would be a killing blow.

When she had imagined getting married, it was around such an age, but never like this.

The Faunus’ back was to her now, a mussed curtain of black hair covering part of the wolf’s head inked deep into skin, leaving the lower jaw bared and slavering. Sleep was the closest Blake ever got to looking peaceful and that was only in its farthest depths; a door opened with too much force or even the faint chime of a scroll would bring back consciousness, the hard tension between both brows. Five years and her lover’s — no,  _betrothed_  now — guard still only fell away when they were intimate, exposing a fond and playful side she would scarcely believe existed if not for the regular reminder. Their safety was conditional, a balancing act, and it was difficult for either of them to forget that simple truth.

Romance hadn’t been a drive for this; neither of them could afford the sentiment. Weiss hadn’t even expected a ring after coming to an agreement, especially since their relationship couldn’t exist in the public sphere. To the shareholders, to the media, even to the scraggling branches of the Schnee line like great-aunts and cousins twice removed, Blake was an anonymous yet constant presence, the hulking bodyguard that accompanied her every step. Some particularly rude reporters had theorized that the Faunus was mute, or worse, that she had taken out Blake’s tongue, but paying their mudslinging any mind would give it credence. As long as they were scraping the bottom of the barrel for some insult or excuse to pen an article, it meant no one had a grip on the truth.

Not that it mattered, Weiss supposed; soon enough, they would have the legal right to refuse to testify against one another.

A low exhale drew her eye back to Blake, who was stirring from slumber into a careful stretch, muscle flexing underneath sleeves of impenetrable ink. When dark locks, heavy and wild, were pushed back behind both shoulders, Weiss couldn’t stifle a hum of amusement at the sight of the thick band of leather encircling the Faunus’ throat. She knew they had forgotten something last night, but with the lights off after spending hours lost in one another, removing all the accessories hadn’t been a priority after exhaustion set in.

“If you wear that into the shower, you’ll ruin it.” Weiss said, watching confusion play across Blake’s face until the Faunus’ fingers caught on the collar.

“So I would.” The silver cuff around Blake’s wrist clinked against the buckle attached to the leather as it was opened, the collar set back into the top drawer of their bedside table. Matching rings might have drawn suspicion, but no one would notice a simple bracelet, even if it was locked on. Weiss kept the key around her throat at the Faunus’ request, tucked behind the platinum apple charm that remained from her mother’s estate. “When is breakfast?”

“Whenever you like. There’s surprisingly little to be done today.” When Blake leaned over for a kiss, Weiss gladly accepted, indulging in the simple warmth. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” As the words were echoed, that mouth traveled down her throat, the Faunus’ tongue darting out to reclaim a healing mark before heat encompassed her collarbone from a hard suck.

“Didn’t I satisfy you last night?” Weiss asked, tone light and teasing. Her fingers sank into waves of black, seeking out the feline ears atop Blake’s head and caressing them from pointed tip to base, soft as velvet. “Such an appetite.”

No answer was given but a rumbling purr, lips moving lower until the sheets slipped down past her thighs, punctuated by a graze of teeth over one hipbone. Weiss had just closed her eyes when a loud buzz cut through the pleasant haze, followed by the building ring of a scroll message. Letting out a huff of irritation, she reached blindly for the device, catching its curved edge and popping the screen open. Woe be any advertiser that dared to interrupt what little peace she was afforded these days.

A security prompt came into view and Weiss frowned, punching in her password with a few quick strokes. A royal seal highlighted the touchglass before the text downloaded in full, stark and official.

_Ms. Schnee,_

_Pursuant to your request, the Council of Vale has validated the bloodline record you provided with a proper seal. Grandfathered under the Faunus Origin Act, Blake Belladonna has the right to independently participate in all legal contracts and acts of citizenry._

She smiled, scanning through the fine print before archiving the message. A hot breath suddenly whispered over the pale curls between her thighs and Weiss shivered, trying to recover from the distraction. “Blake.”

The name brooked no response, just the quick swipe of that twice-damned tongue spreading her open. Swallowing a moan of encouragement, Weiss hooked her fingers under the Faunus’ chin, coaxing until golden eyes flickered upward, desire swept away by a curious arch of both brows.

“Congratulations, you’re a legal subject of Vale.” She said, trying to put some celebratory hint into the words. When Blake had provided her with an aged piece of parchment, stolen with great care from a safehouse, Weiss quite honestly expected it to be refused as proof of citizenship. Beautiful as it was, faded sepia ink tracing half a dozen generations of Belladonna blood to a tribe once scattered throughout the eastern plains, it was handmade — by a deceased aunt, supposedly — and thus not an official document by human standards. Not without their explicit approval, anyway. “So says the royal courts.”

“As if they would refuse you.” Displeasure flared through Blake’s stare, forged deep, as the Faunus’ head turned to rest atop her thigh; not at her, but at needing such recognition. The shadow of the White Fang was a shadow no more, name filed away like any average citizen. “I suppose that’s one less judge to bribe.”

That made Weiss laugh, at least. “I have no intention of bribing whoever honorably presides over our nuptials. That could leave them open to annulment. They’ll simply be reminded what sort of punishment would befall them if there’s any breach of our privacy.”

“When?” Blake murmured, placing a kiss against her skin and starting to work up by centimeters.

“Spring, maybe.” Weiss said, breathless. “After all that godforsaken ice outside starts to thaw.”

Just as Blake’s mouth made contact again, there was a rapid knock on the bedroom door. Groaning in sheer disbelief, she wasn’t surprised when the Faunus pulled back, growling low at the interruption. “I’m going to go start the shower.”

Weiss didn’t even try to argue — whatever reason they were being disturbed in the faint hour after sunrise, the mood had been thoroughly broken. She took the robe that was offered as Blake slipped out of bed, donning it while approaching the door. The peach-dyed silk was wrinkled from spending the night abandoned on the floor, but it was far too early to even feign being presentable.

“Ms. Schnee?” Another knock followed, sharper than the first.

Yanking open the door, Weiss came face-to-face with her morning secretary, a petite woman with an almost aggressive taste for red. Her scarlet heels had been exchanged for flats after she was hired, dropping her close to eye level. Under a noticeably artificial tan, there was a pallor of dread, producing a rather unpleasant color. “I hope this is worth my time, Ms. Szundi.”

The woman gave a quick bow, knocking the thin russet strands of her hair out of their flat, careful line. “I apologize for the interruption, but the head physician at Vale General just called and the matter was quite urgent.”

Weiss’ fingers tightened subtly around the brass latch. “Yes?”

“Your father,” there was a telling hitch of hesitation, and it seemed as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to smile, “is awake. And quite cogent, apparently. It’s possible he may be able to fully recover.”

Silence dragged seconds into moments, finally broken by the distant sound of the shower. Weiss couldn’t be sure whether or not Blake had heard what was said, not when the Faunus was out of her line of sight. It didn’t particularly matter, she supposed, bile lining her mouth with a sour, metallic tang. A flutter of emotion, far too close to fear, crawled from the base of her skull down to her spine. Five years collapsed into a single instant, like a glitch in time.

“Call the first lawyer on my retainer and ensure he arrives at the hospital before I do. I still have power of attorney and conservatorship until my father is discharged, if he is truly well enough to leave on his own recognizance.” Every syllable was tight and manufactured, like she was speaking around a bullet clenched between her teeth. There had been a plan for this; there had always been a plan. “And send some flowers if you would. White chrysanthemums, no accent.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to it.” Szundi trembled, in the same way a rabbit did when it slipped a hunter’s trap by a hair.

Weiss blinked, clearing the cold, demanding aura from around her eyes and the line of her jaw. It wasn’t the first time she had caught herself emulating one of Blake’s harsher expressions, the kind that sliced to the bone and exposed cowardice like viscera. The tension slowly drained away between them, and she managed a mild smile. “Thank you, Ms. Szundi. Your dedication is noted.”

She closed the door without another word, double-checking the lock before turning on her heel, a shaky breath falling from her lips. It was if her heart was collapsing, becoming a pitted chunk of iron that sank low into her gut. As she was about to cross the threshold into the bathroom, Weiss stopped short, taking a sublime, agonizing sort of pleasure in the sight that awaited.

One broad hand concealed Blake’s eyes from view as the spray of the shower painted dark tangles with a slick, pitch black sheen. For a moment, it was easy to pretend the Faunus hadn’t noticed her approach, but Weiss knew that wasn’t true. It was a deception they both allowed, the notion that she could be privy to a raw, intimate moment, take a voyeuristic thrill from rivulets of water framing old ink and older scars. To her, it was perfection, simply put, but desire was a distant dream with the secretary’s announcement ringing through her skull.

Light reflected off the bracelet from overhead, its chain twisted against the inside of Blake’s wrist. Reaching for the key at her throat, Weiss let its sharp edges bite into the swell of her thumb, gripping so tight it felt like her skin was about to split. For all the time the two of them had been together, she never imagined a life with anyone else, choosing the Faunus over and over despite the risks. If need be, she would do it again, right to his face.

The robe slipped off pale shoulders into a silken heap, sidestepped as she opened the sliding glass to get into the stall. Framed by shining marble, Blake was a sculpture, like the posed athletes outside the oldest kingdom coliseums. Weiss took comfort in that powerful flesh, reaching out to draw her fingers over tattooed ribs.

“Did you hear?” She could barely make the question loud enough to be heard over the constant fall of water.

Head tilting downward, the Faunus’ mouth quirked in a frown. “My thoughts were somewhere else. You might have to repeat yourself.”

Answering immediately was beyond her capabilities. Maneuvering beneath the spray, Weiss bowed her head to soak her hair, short enough to be drenched in an instant. Rather than ask again, calloused hands found the nape of her neck, starting to massage the rigid column of muscle there. A plea, more moan than syllable, escaped her lips as Blake’s fingers worked lower in slow circles, forcing the knots of tension to give one by one. She didn’t want to be relaxed now, limp and vulnerable, but it was enough to forget for a split second, allow her thoughts to lapse into a heated fog.

“My father—” The touch paused, just shy of her hips. “—the doctors say he’s awake.”

Weiss’ jaw had clenched for the recoil, a roar of anger or disgust, but instead Blake pressed against her back, arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. Rather than feeling small, it was as if armor had just fallen into place over her skin, power flowing between them like they shared the same blood. She knew the words that were coming a second before they rumbled up from the Faunus’ chest.

“Do you want me to kill him?”

Objectively, it would be a simple solution. The company and all family assets had been transferred into her hands some time ago by the courts, as no one expected her father to recover after even the most costly measures available had been tried and failed. His heart beat, his chest rose, but days passed in a comatose fugue, age slowly carving deeper lines into his face and hair tarnished from white to gray. It seemed too much to hope that he would simply allow her to keep control of the SDC without a fight, much less tolerate the presence of the Faunus who had him shot, left to drown in his own blood. Adam languished in prison, stubbornly mute, but who knew what he would say if word got out that his original target was awake, free?

“He has nothing left. Not a Lien.” Weiss shifted in Blake’s hold, placing her head just below the blackened roses, close enough to count the petals. How easy it was to forget that each one was a murder executed in the White Fang’s name, written into existence by the same hands that cradled her now. “I think he’ll understand why keeping quiet is his only option.”

The scent of kingbloom soap hit her senses, lathered across her body by the Faunus’ slow and careful touch. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Trust me.” It wasn’t quite an answer, but it was all Weiss could offer with any honesty. To order his death, in the same breath as she gave Blake a plaintive kiss, was too much. “Whatever comes to pass, know that I won’t allow this — us — to be put at risk.”

“Do you want me with you at the hospital?” Their eyes met, lingering long enough for her to see a flicker of pain shoved aside, replaced by the mask of determination that fit like a second skin.

She shuddered, feeling the water suddenly drop just shy of freezing. As much money as had been poured into this manor, its underpinnings were older than she was, and the pipes rattled and snarled on the coldest days of the year. “Yes. Of course.”

—

The extended care ward was confined to the back of Vale General, hidden past a maze of hallways where the over-maintained plants and soft chairs meant to comfort loved ones became endlessly repeating tiles and white walls. In the heart of the building, there were no windows, leaving fluorescents to cast light every few feet, and giving Dr. Kullbren’s coat a sickly green tinge as he lead them through sealed steel doors surrounded by plastic directional signs, highlighting laboratories and specialty units. Anaesthetics — Dust Trauma — Maternity. They were all familiar, in one way or another.

“He started showing signs of wakefulness about a week ago, but that’s quite common for patients who are in long-term comas. We usually avoid reporting it to families unless we’re sure that it’s not a false alarm.” The scroll in Kullbren’s hand beeped and he muttered something under his breath, tapping at the keys. “But yesterday morning the nurse came in and found him sitting up, speaking nonsense. Dysarthria and disorientation occur in most cases, although your father recovered remarkably quickly.”

Weiss’ brow knit, matching the concern that radiated from Blake’s tense strides. “Why wasn’t I informed yesterday?”

“Because quite frankly, Ms. Schnee, I expected him to lapse back into a comatose state. He was painfully fatigued after finding his voice, having no sense of how much time had passed. That sort of strain often pulls a patient back under.” Halting in front of another secure door, he hesitated. “Your…lawyer arrived about an hour ago. I didn’t think it was appropriate for him to be in your father’s room alone, but he is waiting outside.”

If she hadn’t confirmed earlier that morning that Kullbren was the premiere expert in the kingdoms for both vegetative states and Dust-induced sleep, Weiss would have spoken to the Chief of Medicine about a censure. He was an intelligent man, but socially abrasive at best and blissfully unaware of the politics that surrounded some of his patients, a priceless sort of leniency she could only imagine having.

“Thank you, doctor.” Stepping past the door as it slid open, her eyes focused on the small sign tacked next to the smaller room.  _Silberne Schnee._ After some months they had exchanged the paper placard for an engraved one, assuming it would be permanent. “I assume our privacy is guaranteed.”

“Of course.” Kullbren cleared his throat. “As it is, you’re the only patron the hospital has that could afford such…dedicated care in this ward.”

Dismissing the implication with a raised brow, Weiss turned her attention to the navy blue suit standing just a few feet away. Baum was his name, although she much preferred the man’s twin sister. It was gravely unfortunate that her expertise made her difficult to get ahold of on such short notice, not when chances were she was working in or flying to another kingdom. Thankfully, Weiss only had to pay one retainer in order to procure them both.

“Good morning, Weiss.” It was a rare morning indeed, for him to not immediately shove a scroll into her hands and ask for a signature. “Your secretary didn’t make it clear why you needed me, but I’ve brought a full copy of the transfer of assets suit.”

So he wasn’t entirely hopeless. “Does my father being awake change anything for the company?”

Baum shrugged, the stiff panels of his shirt moving with his shoulders. “He would have to file a countersuit to regain his ownership, and considering that you’ve already paid out the settlements for the civil charges levied against the family, it wouldn’t be in Mr. Schnee’s best interests to open that can of worms again.”

She hadn’t even paid attention to the numbers back then, ignoring the shock to shareholders while a thousand flashing cameras stayed firmly camped outside their front door. There was no sin a Schnee couldn’t recover from, not when demand for Dust was at an all-time high. Whispers of Grimm at the borders were common gossip, but the beasts had been edging close enough that quarterly profits recovered after a mere blip. It was business as usual, and most of their rivals had slowly turned the tide every time she increased the benefits for Faunus workers, for fear that their mining force would flee to a better opportunity.

“What does he know?” Weiss asked.

“That five years have passed. That you’re alive.” Baum’s attention shifted up over her head; he could only be looking at Blake. “It seemed prudent to leave the other details to you.”

“Keep Mr. Baum entertained, would you?” Meeting the Faunus’ eyes with a silent plea, a minute nod came in turn. “I’d like to see Father alone first.”

Their fingers brushed together, too briefly for anyone else to notice, and Weiss made her way into the room before doubts and second thoughts ate her alive. A white curtain concealed her father’s bed from immediate view, but she recognized the silhouette, angles written in messy shadows. Even from here, it was clear he had lost some weight, no longer filling the broad huntsman’s frame he had been raised with. When she pushed the curtain aside, vinyl rings clicking against the rod embedded in the ceiling, there was the faintest touch of emotion, one she hadn’t felt in a very long time: pity.

Silberne’s body was hunched forward, elbows pressing down on the overbed table in a way that he would have once found interminably rude. While he had shaved — alone or with assistance — the clean lines of his sideburns were now rough and gray, hair lacking sheen or shape absent his usual pomade. It was strange to watch the man who demanded pure silver tableware on his worst day use a small plastic spoon to scoop liquid into his mouth from a styrofoam cup — from the smell and color, a few tendrils of steam, it was hot water laced with honey, not even proper tea. A full vase of white chrysanthemums had been set next to the machines monitoring his IV and heart, a generic card attached to their ribbon.

Dull blue eyes took in the sight of her, disinterest transforming into shock after a moment of silence. “Weiss?”

She reached back to adjust her ponytail, confirm it was off-center, only to grasp empty air. Hiding a wince, her hand fell back down. What a servile, juvenile habit it had been; to hope such a paltry rebellion would provoke his ire. Better that it had been cut, severed clean. “You look well, Father.”

“It really has been five years.” His laugh was hoarse, becoming a cough by the end. That explained the need for the honey. Weiss wasn’t sure when they had taken the tube from his throat, hadn’t asked if he gagged and spit as it was removed. “Baum told me a lot had changed, but I didn’t expect you would—”

The hesitation made her tense, blinking as she calculated the distance between them. He wouldn’t be able to reach out and touch her, no, not from here. “That I would what?”

“You look so much like your mother now.”

Nausea forced her gorge to rise, bile scalding the inside of her mouth. It was chased by anger at the lie, the presumption. Weiss could close her eyes and remember photographs of her mother with ease, the subtle curls in white locks that were thicker than a woven tapestry, falling all the way to hips emphasized by the restraint of a corset. Her irises were a splendid green, pure as spring grass, and the only callouses on her skin were from decades in front of a piano, the ones Weiss felt brush her knuckles as fumbling child’s fingers were guided along the keys. The smile when she had hit a sour note was as bright as the one when she managed a simple trill, encouraging and warm. Nothing like what she saw in the mirror now, not a single detail in sync.

“Don’t insult her memory for my sake.” She had made the mistake of letting the personal take priority, rather than the task at hand. It wouldn’t happen again. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I—” His brows knit together, the cup by his hand brusquely pushed away. “Is that why we have a lawyer outside?”

“The courts had no interest in filing charges against a comatose man and I was considered too young to be culpable. In civil terms, the damages were rather light.” Far less than the amount of money it had taken to register every Faunus under Schnee employ, providing them with insurance and a living wage. “So tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

Her father’s mouth tensed into a tight line, cheekbones prominent enough for the shift in expression to make him look gaunt. “Adam Taurus stepping over my body without a second thought. I suppose he decided saving one Schnee was enough trouble for one night.”

“Blake…Belladonna took me to a safehouse. I thought you were dead.” The absolute truth and yet it felt like a lie.

“I would have been if I hadn’t connected to an emergency line on my scroll. I heard sirens and then the world went dark. It’s been dark ever since.” His smile was cold and sharp. “I’m proud to see you came into your blood without my guidance, Weiss.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t alone.”

Silberne glanced at the door to the room. From the slice of light between it and the floor, two sets of shoes were visible, although the leather on Blake’s were polished to a shine. “I hope the dogs haven’t been scratching at your leg too often. They were always difficult to keep in line.”

“Oh?” Weiss’ hand clenched into a fist, hiding the ring there from view.

“Adam is a well-dressed brute. Sometimes his kind are aware enough to hunger for freedom, though, and that makes them dangerous. Anything more than lip service and the occasional bribe and one might get ideas.” He tossed his cup away into the trash, as if disgusted to have touched it. “Did you happen to bring a change of clothes with you? Kullbren would see me kept here another week, but that seems excessive.”

“To be honest, Father, I only came here to deliver some news.” Facing away from him, Weiss reached to unlatch the door, beckoning Blake inside with a tilt of her head. Baum looked ill at ease, but said nothing before she closed it once more.

The Faunus moved as she moved until they both stood at the end of her father’s bed. Suspicion darkened his eyes, spine going straight. If he had been at a desk, wearing a ten thousand Lien suit instead of a hospital gown, if she hadn’t seen the subtle tremble through his fingers as they rested on the table, perhaps it would have been intimidating. Weiss knew all too well what those hands were capable of, how they wrapped around a whiskey glass before it was shattered into a thousand pieces. They were the same fingers that wielded knives and a rapier with precision, carved a scar into her face.

“Belladonna. I pray you’ll forgive me for noting it seems like only yesterday that I had the pleasure of your company.” Silberne’s tone was smooth, light, but his posture was enough of a betrayal. “Where’s Adam? Don’t tell me he’s retired from the stage so young.”

“Indisposed, unfortunately.” Blake’s hands gripped the frame of the bed, bracelet clinking gently against the cold metal.

Irritation tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Is this a particular formality I’m not aware of? Surely reestablishing our relations can wait until I’ve been discharged.”

“The company was transferred under my name some time ago.” Weiss said, deliberate enough to draw his eyes back towards her. “Since then, I’ve decided it would be best to encourage Faunus interests as well as human.”

Silence reigned for a long moment, anger building in her father’s expression like a starving flame. It was mirrored in Blake’s body, knuckles going white. The Faunus was so strong, strong enough to flip the bed, Weiss imagined, or lunge forward and rip out his throat in an instant. All it would take was her word, a simple gesture, to end all of this before it even began.

“What did you do to her, you mongrel?”

“Nothing I didn’t allow.” She snapped coldly. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t look into every aspect of our…business? We were practically slavemongers, letting bodies pile up in the mines because it was cheaper to let them rot than bury them. You had _children_  taken from their families to make sure they wouldn’t speak of it.”

“Faunus. Children.” Silberne punctuated the syllables as if he was explaining something overly simple.

“Yes, Faunus children.” Weiss lay her fingers atop Blake’s, allowing the ring to shine under the cheap fluorescent light. “I wonder what ours will look like.”

Being so bold was a terrible gamble, more than she cared to admit, but watching the color drain from her father’s face was worth it. He was dumbstruck, allowing Blake a word in edgewise. “Admittedly, I broke tradition by not asking you for her hand, but I never expected to have the opportunity.”

Seconds ticked by before his anger was sublimated into sheer disdain. When the answer came, it was barely above a hiss. “I will not have my daughter be the whore of the White Fang.”

It hurt. Weiss hated that his words stung, that she cared what he thought of her. There was no warning before Blake’s shadow stuttered, hand slipping from hers only to wrap around Silberne’s throat a second later. When he tried to struggle, his wrist was caught and crushed against the headboard, held at an angle so harsh she was surprised not to hear the wet snap of torn ligaments, bones ground into splinters. He choked on a cry of pain as the Faunus leaned close, teeth an inch from one ear.

“You have nothing now, old man. You are  _nothing_. Say such a thing to her again and I’ll put you in the ground like I should have five years ago.”

“Weiss,” the pieces were falling together, desperation written all over his face, “stop this.”

To say she hated him would ascribe too much effort to the feeling. Apathy might have been a better word, the way one dismissed an unwanted pet when it was pleading for attention. He needed her now, life held by the threads she provided, a safety net that could be set aflame with a wave of her hand. Even so, Weiss didn’t want him dead, only humbled. Such a reckoning was long overdue.

“You still have my support, father. I’ve paid your medical expenses and will continue to do so. I kept the deed for that retirement cottage on Patch so you can convalesce there, away from the eyes of the public.” Idly, she watched the lines on his heart monitor climb in jagged spikes. “But I’ve changed the company for the better — my life for the better — and I won’t see it undone.”

Blake let go and Silberne’s arm fell limp in an instant, like someone had cut its strings. Her father’s heavy breathing buffeted the room with the force of thunder, but for all of the enraged blustering, he didn’t dare lash out again. Red marks encircled his wrist, deep enough to bruise if his Aura didn’t soak up the damage within a few minutes, nothing permanent that he would have to see in the mirror every day. In that regard, Weiss felt he had gotten off lightly.

“I’ll come and speak with you again when you’ve had a few more days to recover your faculties.” She crossed her arms, wishing that she had brought a heavier jacket. Even inside, winter’s chill seemed intent on seeping through the walls. “Come on, darling.”

The curtain was drawn shut without another word, and Blake opened the door to let her through. Heels clicked sharply on the tile as Weiss stepped into the hall, halfway toward the wing’s exit before Baum scuffled to catch up with their joint stride, opening his scroll with a muffled whirr.

“Is there something—”

She interrupted him with a raise of her hand, following the high neon arrows that chained their way to the exit. “I want a full media blackout. No interviews, no interest pieces. If a single word about his recovery gets out of this hospital, if some reporter slips by and puts a recorder in my father’s face, I’ll have your firm on Main Street stripped to the foundation and use the bricks to sink your sorry excuse for a career.”

“I’m not his personal counsel anymore, Weiss.” He cleared his throat. “Technically, we can’t—”

Stopping short, she jabbed her finger into Baum’s chest, right below the crimson knot of his Mistrali silk tie. “The only reason you are allowed to address me with any familiarity is because of your better half. I know how much you’ve buried for my father. At least do me the courtesy of patronizing me behind my back if you can’t help yourself.”

After swallowing the insult, Baum smoothed down the silk and closed his scroll. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”

“Not for the time being.” Weiss said.

He was left to cool his heels in the administrative wing, where the head of security could be cajoled and suitably intimidated. It wasn’t until they were out in the parking lot that Weiss allowed herself to slow down, shivering as a gust of wind tossed frozen leaves across the asphalt. Fresh snowfall gathered around the line of trees leading to the garage, shoveled into piles as high as her hip, and slate blue salt cut a breadcrumb path through the ice encroaching on the sidewalk. Altogether, it was a miserable scene, and she was eager to get back into the car and take full advantage of its overwrought heating system.

“Do you want my jacket?” Blake asked, reaching to unbutton it.

The trenchcoat would engulf her completely in black wool, but there was no denying that it was warmer than the jacket she had chosen this morning with little regard for the weather, and the voile scarf around her neck was no better. Still, it seemed unfair. “I’ll be fine. It’s a short walk.”

 _Fine_  and yet Weiss found her heart thudding in her chest like a frantic, caged thing. In moments like this, she wondered how it would feel to have the traitorous organ torn out, liberated from behind the shield of her ribs. Her thumb slid over the inside of Blake’s ring, nail catching on the hollow hook. They hadn’t come so far to buckle at the first threat, and she wouldn’t compromise what she desired most for a man who considered her to be the whore of a beast.

Perhaps it would have been for the better if she poisoned him herself.

Tinted windows caught Weiss’ attention in the distance, the only vehicle skirting the legal limit. Seeing the sports car was a relief, even its handling on the icy roads left much to be desired; Blake could drive it perfectly, but she personally preferred the sedan, although they were both armored. Remembering the Faunus’ frustration while teaching her how to drive provoked a hint of a smile; who else knew how to escape a tail with two tires shot out?

After the usual check of the undercarriage and trunk, Blake held the passenger side door open for her. A few flakes of snow clung to the black strands escaping the ever-present ribbon, pure and melting white, and Weiss reached up to brush each one away. Finding that smooth cheek cold to the touch, their breaths were exchanged in a cloud of opaque fog, prompting her to lean forward on her toes and claim a brief kiss. Her heartbeat slowed; it was like being sedated, in a way.

“What would you say if I wanted to get married tomorrow?” Weiss asked.

Blake’s smile was nothing short of beatific. “In this awful weather?”

“Without a single bridesmaid or gaudy invitations.” Gripping both lapels of the heavy coat, she offered another kiss, then another. “No best man or reception.”

“What about a honeymoon?” The question was mumbled against her lips.

“I suppose we can afford a single indulgence.” Weiss swallowed roughly, ignoring the building burn at the corners of her eyes. “If you’ll have me.”

She was startled by Blake shoving the passenger side door closed, yanking the one behind them open instead. When her back hit the seat, leather absolutely frigid against her skin, Weiss gasped when the Faunus’ weight sank on top of her, skirt pushed up by the pressure of Blake’s knee. Her calves were exposed to the cold air from where they were caught over the edge of the seat, protected by little more than dark stockings. One heel dangled dangerously from her foot, threatening to fall onto the ground outside, but she was pinned by that bright, hungry stare, forgetting for a second how to breathe.

“Anywhere you ask,” Blake whispered, pressing a kiss to the subtle places where tears tried to rise, “any hour, any day.”

“Here?” The question came out choked, disbelief clashing with the headlong rush of exhilaration.

“Spread your legs and I’ll prove it.”

Despite the tightness in Weiss’ chest, the tension from earlier in the morning lingered, like a fire that only needed a whisper of oxygen to ignite again. She obeyed without a word, starting to unbutton Blake’s coat, ignoring every voice in her head screaming that a parking garage like this had to have cameras, that anyone could simply walk up and see them with the door open. Being quiet was out of the question when her scarf was torn away with a harsh tug, baring her throat as she raked her nails from shoulder to collarbone, nearly wrenching the top button off of Blake’s shirt.

Every cold spot was kissed and soothed until she was guiding calloused fingers underneath the tangled sheath of her skirt, moans muffled into the Faunus’ collar. Lipstick smeared across the fabric with the consistency of congealing blood, and moments later when she came, the cry torn from her lips echoed across the cage of steel and concrete.

—

A stiff cast iron fence surrounded the graveyard, every inch of grass shrouded in snow. The road leading to the front gate had been plowed, but most of the walkways were still covered, requiring any visitors to use the colorful markers of dying flowers to tiptoe between the headstones. Weiss didn’t consider herself to be superstitious, but it seemed like a profound disrespect to walk on someone else’s grave, and she was grateful to follow in Blake’s larger footsteps while giving directions to the mausoleum that awaited in the distance.

It was one of several, although she was sure theirs was the largest. Carved from pristine blocks of marble, the front arch came to a head around the Schnee snowflake, imprinted in pure silver. Fitting that frost now rimed the edges, icicles hanging precariously above the doorway. They were thin as needles, trembling with every direction from the wind, but not a single one fell as she scanned her scroll over the lock. In the last hundred years, it was the only change made for modern convenience; the rest of the structure showed its age in ancient fittings and wear on the bronze name plates listing generations of the family.

The three urns she was looking for were sealed next to each other, ordered in the dates they had died. Only one had an inscription underneath —  _Beloved Wife, Mother, and Artist_  — but her grandfather and uncle’s names had been stamped in broad letters along with dates of birth and death. Surrounded by stone and metal, the mausoleum was cold enough for Weiss’ teeth to hurt, a faint shiver making her fingers shake as she reached out to touch them. Blake’s presence behind her was the only warmth to be had, but despite the chill, it was peaceful here. Sending fresh flowers every month had little resemblance to what it felt like to stand in this place, the small and hallowed hall where the dead kept a silent vigil.

“I still think Aurora is a beautiful name.” Blake said, so softly that it didn’t even echo.

“You’re a flatterer.” Her fingertips skirted embossed numbers, the tiny sigil beneath them. “Nine years wasn’t enough.”

“It wasn’t for me, either.”

The words weren’t meant to guilt her, but Weiss felt it all the same — at least she had the privilege of a tomb that could be tended to, some fraction of her family left. She couldn’t remember the last time either of them had spoken about their parents’ deaths, and even then, the details were sparse. Recalling the happier moments, learning piano and training her voice to mimic that perfect soprano, was easier than remembering that the furniture in the music room had dustcloths thrown over them a month after her mother’s passing, that the first time she had touched the keys in years, every string bound to them was out of tune.

“I never told you how she died, did I?” It was purely rhetorical; Weiss was quite aware that she hadn’t.

Blake’s hand found hers, knuckles cupped in that roughened palm. “Just that it was sudden.”

“You would think that modern medicine would have cured these ills by now, but my mother seized…and bled. Aura responds so poorly to shock.” It had been out of her view, behind a different door and a different curtain. With both feet dangling above the floor from a chair in the waiting room, Weiss watched doctors and nurses rushing in and out, heard a shout and clatter of instruments somewhere inside. “No one expected it, I suppose. My own birth had gone flawlessly.”

“She was pregnant?” The Faunus asked, unable to conceal some base surprise.

“With another girl, who would have been my sister.” Weiss knew what to answer next, even if the words weren’t said aloud. “She passed just as quickly. My father had them cremated together without giving her a name.”

“Weiss—”

“It’s ancient history, but I’m sorry.” A heartbeat passed, then two. “For speaking about children in front of my father. I never asked if you would want any.”

Never mind that the condition her mother suffered had a chance of being genetic, but they could cross that bridge if it ever came. There were alternate procedures, even adoption if her body simply couldn’t bear the toll.

“I didn’t ever think I’d have the chance.” She turned, just in time to see Blake frown. “Nor the capability. But that doesn’t really matter, in this case. Do we  _need_  to have a child?”

Heirs. A legacy. If she died today, her will partitioned half the liquid assets to Blake, as well as a homestead outside Vale, outside the White Fang’s reach. The company, however, would be splintered among twice and thrice-removed relatives, or perhaps now, her father again. With a stroke of his pen, every change she enacted could be undone, razing whatever progress had been made with the added salt of betrayal. It was hard to think a single Faunus would ever trust the Schnee name again, were that to pass.

“No.” Technically, she could say it was true. “We don’t need to.”

“But perhaps we should.” Blake said quietly.

“Perhaps.”

“At least they wouldn’t be a bastard.” There was a dry laugh at her inquisitive look. “My parents were never married. It’s uncommon, with all the costs involved.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated.” Weiss confessed, the words coming out faster than she meant.

The palm of one of Blake’s driving gloves made for a soft pressure against her cheek. “I don’t. But I don’t want you to think we have to be married, either, just because I proposed. Even if that’s too much to risk, I’ll stay.”

“Is it because you love me? Or is it just to keep us safe?” Her eyes burned again; she had halted the tears before, but this time they flowed freely. “Please. Whichever it is, I need to know.”

“Of course it’s because I love you.” White teeth flashed, grit in a near-snarl. “Don’t you think I know how selfish this is? If I wanted you safe, truly safe, I’d have killed Adam and then myself a long time ago. Without us, the backbone of the White Fang is gone.”

“Don’t say that!” Weiss’ fist glanced off the Faunus’ shoulder, the blow more sting than force. “I don’t want you to die. I want you here, alive, with  _me_. Even as a joke, I can’t…I can’t hear it.”

“I wish it was a joke. Even with him in prison—” Blake sighed, breath spilling between cold-chapped lips like smoke. “I’m sorry. I won’t say it again.”

Fitting that they were surrounded by the dead, but then again, when were they not? Weiss could sense a spirit’s breath on the back of her neck if she tried hard enough, let the childish fear of ghosts emerge, a haunting for which there was no cure. Her uncle was interred right _there_ , the same man Blake had seen dragged screaming to his death by the White Fang more than a decade before, when the stripes of loyalty were still new. They had butchered him into unrecognizable chunks, only recovered after a month-long manhunt by the police. Now she knew that Silberne had every intention of his brother’s body being found — the authorities cast an eye his way until the discovery ‘confirmed’ it was the work of Faunus aggravators. How convenient.

He was burned to ash, to slivers of bone, to the dust from which they all came and returned. To think she had found the service poetic and moving when she was a girl, even if her father had an open distaste for faith. Science and invention was the only thing that had turned the tide against the Grimm in his telling, not the folklore of the nomads they were all descended from, their worship of the elements. Weiss remembered keeping her own private vigil away from his eyes for months after her grandfather’s funeral, a stick of incense for each family member lost set amongst tiny sacrifices; a bowl of water, a lit candle, a raw crystal of white Dust. The altar had been dismantled years ago, but it left her with an indescribable sort of longing. She should have brought an offering today, yet it had completely slipped her mind.

Blake dropped to one knee and Weiss felt like she had been struck, the impact ringing in her ears. There was no more beautiful penitent than the Faunus in front of her, golden eyes the only light the mausoleum had to offer. Her hand was guided by the wrist with care until her palm was flush with jaw and cheek, the ring pressed to bare skin. With a simple gesture, it could scratch deep, puncture until Blake’s veins drank the whole of the poison and withered, rotted. If she recoiled in time, perhaps half could be driven into her own blood instead, and they could die here together. It seemed that they had treaded that line since the beginning, not a matter of if but when.

“I’d give up all of this.” Weiss whispered, finger tracing the taut line of Blake’s mouth, accepting the kiss against her knuckles. “Everything held by my name, in an instant. And nothing scares me more…except for losing you.”

“No matter what comes, we’ll be together.” The Faunus’ smile was faint, but genuine. “That’s really all we can ask for, isn’t it?”

“And have it written into record, no matter what my father may do.” A shadow fell on them from overhead, thrown far through the doorway of the tomb, and she frowned. “We should go home. It’s getting dark already.”

Blake nodded, releasing her hand, but stayed kneeling. “Would you give me a moment alone in here?”

“I—” Weiss cleared her throat, “—yes, but why?”

“If it’s alright, I’d like to ask for your mother’s blessing.” There was a split second chatter of teeth, and she could only imagine how cold it was to be down on the marble; the blocks may as well have been carved from ice at this temperature. “Were she alive, I would be more concerned with her judgement than his.”

“Mothers know best?” She asked.

“Mine always did.” Violet-lined ears flickered and then drooped. “She was the only reason I was left behind in Adam’s care instead of shadowing their work in the quarries.”

This was the world they lived in, one where children were so often sent to war, from within or without. To think she could have been one of them was hard for Weiss to fathom, had her entry into a hunting school been permitted. Grimm so rarely breached the cities in the modern age, after all, and they were easy enough to ignore if one lived in the kingdom capitals, and while she maintained the family’s annual donations to the academy in Atlas, Weiss had to admit she wasn’t quite sure where the Lien went. It was a good faith measure, expected of someone with her resources, like so many other things. A Schnee quarry was safer than a village on the outskirts, protected day and night by company soldiers — at least, when it came to Grimm.

“Come out to the car when you’re finished,” she said, adjusting her scarf in the hopes that it would provide some small measure of warmth, “much as we try, benediction won’t ward off frostbite.”

“Amen.” Blake replied, with a scant touch of humor.

Halfway down the carved steps, Weiss turned to steal a glance through the door, watching as the Faunus dropped to both knees in front of her mother’s display, head inclined and fingers laced tightly together. Over the years, she had seen Blake all through the wild spectrum of emotion, but it was a first to see those powerful shoulders slump, eyes closed while whispering something too softly to hear. It was serene despite the cold attempting to strip her raw, burrowing into nerve and marrow; any longer and she’d be tinged with blue.

As she walked back along the path they had already tread, a gust of wind hurried Weiss’ steps to the car, cursing the morning’s choice of footwear until she was inside. Snow melted into the mats while she clicked the seatbelt into place, although even numbed senses and wet earth wasn’t enough to dispel the scent of sex from earlier in the afternoon. Audacious and foolish as it may have been, she was hard-pressed to do anything but smile.

Pulling out her scroll, Weiss decided to start looking up hotels, those that specialized in newlyweds. If Blake wanted a honeymoon, she’d do her level best make it perfect.

—

The laws governing human and Faunus marriage were archaic. Some thought it was a triumph that the practice was legal at all, but the reasons such unions had been permitted in the first place soured any true celebration. Weiss had obtained a printed copy of the statues the day after Blake’s proposal for her lawyers’ sake, as most of them were still waiting to be archived into the digital registry, and found that it was yet another bloody swathe of history, albeit one with more subtleties than the war that followed.

Vale’s heartland had been settled centuries ago after numerous attempts, using the cliffs and closed off ravines to make a series of chokepoints that would hold off the encroaching darkness. Watchtowers were built at the highest points, and although many eventually caved into ruin when the Grimm found flight in murders of Nevermores, one of them — Beacon — still stood, becoming a school after its use as a fort dwindled. Along its border, in what was now called Forever Fall, a commune of Faunus had long since made their home — tribes of bear and wolf lineage, if the scattered records were to be taken as truth. This was before they were  _Faunus_  at all, a name created by humans to combine a thousand bloodlines into something simple to pronounce.

Trade between the settlements fostered into other relationships, and it wasn’t long before the Vali were allowed to see the wonders of the forest, flush with game and fertile earth that couldn’t be found in the desolate caves where so many nomads had been born. A tradition of dowry still existed among humankind, and while the Faunus permitted the practice with some reservations, the first handfastings between them quickly became a matter of politics and scarcity. Heirs to sacred hunting grounds and ancient wood were quickly targeted for marriage in the same days as the founding of the First Vale Council, who began to disseminate laws throughout the village that was swelling into a city.

_Any who bind themselves to a member of the wild tribes shall have dominion. They shall bear your name, their children hold your lineage, their inheritance your sovereign._

It left Weiss sick to read the words. They could have only been words if the Faunus knew of the coming exploitation, where Forever Fall was divided into pieces and written into deeds under human hands. Their initial protests were ignored, spiraling into a feud that comprised the first official battle between the species greater than a skirmish, but of course, it wasn’t anywhere near the last. Spouses were held hostage on pain of slaughter; a footnote in the text described a rash of suicides upon realization of the betrayal. After more than a year of fighting, the last of the original tribes were driven out of the woods and into empty plains, left to starve with the coming snowfall, and Faunus legend proclaimed that was the day the leaves turned red, stained with blood that could never be washed away.

Content with their triumph, the Council had never stripped the law from the books even after the formation of the kingdoms, although the language was eventually edited after the Fall of Menagerie to please activists. The salt in the wound was truly that human-Faunus marriages had sharply declined after a generation or two, as time had proven that the extraneous traits — claws, secondary ears, even nightvision — dominated genetically, and half-bred children were subject to the same discrimination as their Faunus parent, even if the original law stated they were to be considered human. What little surprise that as science developed, so did the methods of stripping away any bestial lineage, allowing some to pass through life invisible, unless they were arrested or subject to a blood test.

Blake had no property to take save for Gambol Shroud, and as backward as it may have seemed, she was grateful. Weiss didn’t want to claim anything possessed by the Belladonna name, be it in letter or spirit, and rewriting her will to give the Faunus a massive inheritance had been one of her first priorities. By all technicalities, it was a legal gamble while they were only engaged and not yet married, but at least enough to contest in court, should such a thing come to pass. It hadn’t escaped her notice that if she were to die first, Blake would become the richest Faunus in Vytal, if not all four kingdoms.

That hadn’t escaped the notice of their officiant either, a gray-haired woman who accepted them into the clerk’s office with obvious surprise. Weiss had prepared the paperwork that morning, enclosing Blake’s bloodline record with her birth certificate, the fee for the license calculated to the last cent on a disposable Lien card. As required of a keeper of the peace, their legal and consenting marriage couldn’t be refused, but she saw clear hesitation before the seal was stamped three times, a tradition to ensure the ink bled through the paper.

Privacy was discussed in short, discrete terms before they left the courthouse, withholding a moment of celebration until returning to the car. What a simple thing it would have been to take Blake’s arm in public, kiss on the steps and show off her ring to anyone who questioned their smiles, and yet neither of them could risk it. The moment they were behind tinted windows, however, their hands came together, intertwined while the engine roared to life. She provided the address to the hotel with a somewhat cheeky smile, enjoying the Faunus’ look of shock at the locale.

“That’s a three hour drive that you’re going to spend sitting in that dress.” Blake quipped, pointedly staring at the heavy layers of her skirts. “Unless you want to take it off early.”

Weiss’ eyes narrowed, arms crossing defensively over the black charmeuse. “I barely got you into that suit this morning. You can wait to undress me properly.”

“It’s not as if it’s a tuxedo.” The Faunus protested, smile edging into a smirk. Regardless of the style, she thought Blake looked dashing in white linen, a crimson pocket square softening the hard contrast of color. Ruby teardrops hung from her ears to offer the same effect, enough similarity that it nearly seemed planned instead of the chaos of calling a trio of clothiers just after dawn. “Wait, are you a virgin?”

Slapping Blake’s thigh only earned a raucous laugh, and she settled back into her seat as soon as they reached the long road out of the capital, diverging from the far lane towards a resort town on the coast. Weiss had reserved a week at the Bella Venezia, even if delaying this month’s board meetings raised a few eyebrows.

For five years, she’d refrained from taking a single vacation day; there were enough forced absences from assassination attempts and sabotage to make it untenable. While the hotel was of exorbitant cost by anyone’s standard, it had felt good to see the charge on her account, proof that they would have a few days alone. The media followed her movements constantly, but the Venezia’s staff were known for suing entire news publications if their patrons’ privacy was violated by journalists or paparazzi.

Unfortunately, it was too cold to roll down the window as she took in the view, watching the constant flow of the tide while they sped along the edge of the cliffs. Water, gray and thick as a stone wall, heaved and crashed, creeping up the sand by inches each time it fell, and Weiss could almost taste the salty froth crowning the waves on the back of her tongue. The sky was pure slate without a single ray of sun shining through, clouds united in winter’s gloom, and far in the distance she could make out the beginnings of a storm, lightning dancing over one of the abandoned islands there.

Silence wrapped around them like a veil, but it was comfortable, familiar. She could sink into the warm rumble of the engine, take pleasure in Blake’s relaxed posture, as long as her eyes veered away from the speedometer. Weiss didn’t want to hazard a guess as to how fast they were going, but her scroll application had allocated  _five_  hours for the drive, not three. By some mercy, there was no one else on the road, save for the occasional heavy transit vehicle carrying tons of cargo in the opposite direction, sluggish caterpillar treads taking up their lane from line to line.

A question bid her to break the peace, mindless as it was. “Would you like to have dinner first or go right to the room?”

“I thought we’d order room service. They have to have something ridiculous available, don’t they? Champagne with gold flakes in it or something.” Blake said.

“That stuff tastes awful,” Weiss murmured, making a mental note to order at least one bottle for the novelty, “but it fills up a bathtub nicely.”

She waited for the raised brow, stifling a smile. “You’ve bathed in champagne?”

“I’ve heard stories from family friends with more money than sense.” All three were in short supply as of late, but Weiss remembered dozens of parties from her childhood with perfect clarity, owing to her father’s insistence that she take advantage of others’ weakness by playing the innocent eavesdropper. “Besides, the alcohol is supposed to soak into your skin. We’d be tipsy before our hair was wet.”

“It’s sounding more inviting by the minute.” A holographic sign projected itself over the road a moment later, welcoming them to  _Myrsina, The Pearl of Vale_. Behind it, the logo for Bella Venezia loomed, cast in gold and silver. “If I had to hazard a guess, this might be the place.”

“Subtlety wasn’t listed in their brochure.” Weiss said, letting out a deep breath. Now that they were out of the capital, away from the manor, relaxation seemed like it might be in her grasp.

Checking in was remarkably painless, and for all the ostentatious advertising, the accommodations themselves were simple and well-put together. Blake had encouraged her to keep their luggage minimal, a single bespoke suitcase each, and both fell with a solid thud of leather to the floor as soon as they were inside. Gambol Shroud and Mytrenaster shared a custom black case Weiss procured earlier in the year, making it easy to transport the weapons without too much attention, although she wasn’t quite sure where to put it. After a moment’s consideration, she lay it across the dining room table; chances were, most of their meals would be taken in bed.

“You can lose the suit now.” Weiss called into the other room. “And then help me out of this dress.”

The only response was a muted grunt of agreement, and as soon as she returned to the bedroom, catching sight of the jacket hanging over the chair, Weiss rolled her eyes. Standing near the oak frame of the bed, Blake was facing away from her, the white dress shirt opaque enough for her to make out the tattoos underneath, the dark restriction of the Faunus’ binder. A second before her fingers made contact, intent on tracing broadcloth and ink, there was a knock on the door, and she sighed, wondering what complimentary gift-basket or forgotten signature could be worth this interruption.

“I’ll get it.” Weiss said, catching that golden stare. “Just take your shirt off, will you?”

Blake’s low chuckle made her shiver. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tired of the ache in the arches of her feet, she abandoned her heels by the foyer carpet, glancing around for a Do Not Disturb hanger. Finding none at hand, she wondered if this was the sort of place where it could be programmed into the handle, the hologram projected on the door. It was with that in mind that Weiss pressed the panel to open it, coming face-to-face with curved, notched steel. A mask — it had to be — but then everything exploded into white light, pain ricocheting through her skull from something that struck her temple, hard enough that both knees immediately gave out.

Grasping at the carpet to try and push back to standing, an abject shriek of pain was torn from her throat as a heavy boot came down on her left wrist, pinning it to the floor. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, not with everything spinning in a red haze, but some primal part of her senses registered a struggle, the scrape of metal on wood, glass shattering. Weiss tried to tilt her head, to see who held her in place, but another boot came down on the back of her neck and pressed, followed by the rounded edge of a gun barrel.

“It’s been a long time, Blake.” The voice was unfamiliar, deep with the edge of a growl. “Now put that rat-trap of a weapon down before I paint her blood over this lovely floor.”

Opening her mouth to scream for Blake to shoot, to do anything, the last thing Weiss saw was a blurred shadow before the world dwindled into darkness, consciousness slipping free with the scent of gunpowder.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain was the first sense that returned.

It thrummed like a pulse, blossoming through her nerves until it aligned with the beat of her heart. Weiss blinked to ensure she was able, yet there was only darkness, and a cold sensation radiating up one wrist. She rotated it slowly, teeth grit at a new flare of agony; Aura should have healed whatever damage was there, unconscious or no, but with recognition of her body came recognition of thick, roughly woven rope holding both arms behind her back, trapped at an angle sharp enough that the muscle was held taut and trembling.

The rope was slotted through the rigid rails of a chair, its limbs made of steel if the texture and chill against bare skin meant anything. While it didn’t seem like her ankles were bound, the chair itself was immobile, bolted in place to the floor. Smooth concrete brushed along Weiss’ toes as she flexed them, rasping through her stockings, and even that simple movement sent streaks of color across her vision, painting the shadows.  _Everything_  hurt.

Four golden orbs appeared, hovering in midair, and she barely swallowed a scream of shock when the illusion became apparent. It was a horrifying trick of that mask she’d glimpsed a second before being struck, the slits in the metal dividing bright irises in two, making every slight shift appear to be the twitch of a Deathstalker’s head. There was only one organization that dared to mimic the Grimm, with a stare readily capable of penetrating the dark.

Her skull throbbed, the deep twinge succumbing to the dizzying haze of fear. This wasn’t Adam’s doing; the voice had been different, but who else could expect to go against Blake and live? Who would have the skill?

 _Blake_ —

“I’m glad to see you’ve joined us again, Ms. Schnee.” Her captor’s low rumble was unchanged, apparently natural and not an affect. “Or is it Mrs. Belladonna? Naming conventions are so political these days.”

“Where’s Blake?” Weiss spat, trying to keep her head in line with the mask.

“Introductions first, my dear.” She stiffened —  _that_  in particular sounded familiar, but the mask obscured most of his features, curving down like massive fangs down both cheeks to each side of his mouth. It would have been half a decade, if not longer, beyond the point of easy recall. “Even your father feigned propriety.”

Fury and terror warred like beasts in her gut, but after a moment of strained silence, she shoved aside the first panicked impulse. If her captor was calm, she would be, rather than risk provoking anger in turn. “Weiss will suffice. I had no plans to change my name.”

“Of course not.” Footsteps swept over the floor, that glowing stare averted from her sight. Turned as such, she had little sense of where she was in the room, or even how large it was, and pitch black threatened to pull her back under, deep enough to drown in.

A soft click registered the instant before a column of light blinded her. Weiss squeezed her eyes shut by instinct, gulping down air to fight a rising gorge, but she could only bend her head so far towards her knees, bile sluicing through tightly clenched teeth. Aura flared in sleepy white sparks, filling her with warmth from nape to crown. The pressure eased by degrees until she could sit upright again, breathing steadily rather than half-taken gasps. Whether it was a concussion or a fracture, she couldn’t be sure, but the flare of energy was palliative, enough to stave off the worst and allow her eyelids to crack open a sliver.

The sight that awaited made Weiss’ jaw drop, a keening sound building in her lungs before she hastily choked it back.

Blake hung from the ceiling by a heavy pair of manacles, arms wrenched upward at such a sharp angle it was a miracle neither shoulder had been torn from its socket. The Faunus was exposed from the waist up — jacket, shirt, and binder stripped, belt tugged open and loose. Through the bronze teeth of the zipper, Weiss could still see black fabric, but blood had splashed across both pant legs, painting white linen with a garish stain. When she dared to look up once more, the source became clear; a thick crust of red congealed under Blake’s nostrils. Aura had healed the broken nose, but couldn’t wash away the mess.

Seconds passed before the Faunus’ chest rose a few centimeters, then collapsed again. Shallow as the rhythm was, it was undeniably there, enough to confirm a heartbeat.

“You can open your eyes now, Blake.”

They drifted partially open at the command, exposing half-circles of tarnished gold. “Was your little charade worth it?”

“I’m a man of my word.” Disapproval thickened their captor’s voice with a growl. “Be grateful you still have them.”

A lupine tail protruded from below the line of his coat, the fur thick enough to sink her hands into. It was a sign of wolf blood if she wasn’t mistaken, a blend of warm tan strands shot through with the silver of age, mimicking what hair Weiss could see atop his head from behind, cropped close to the skull but still the color of wheat, dappled by gray down to his nape. He was older, then; her father was fifty and just turning as such, but carried himself with the same self-assured swagger as Blake, the sort of easy confidence that came from knowing he could kill everyone in the room.

A sobering thought, considering their position.

“Why are we here?” Weiss asked, willing her voice steady.

“I’m surprised Blake’s kept you so ignorant of our ways.” He said, amusement filtering through his tone. “Although I’m sure the  _how_  interests you as much as the  _why_.”

“One of many things that have already crossed my mind.” She admitted. 

There was a slight cant of his head. “Have you ever stayed at the Bella Venezia penthouse?”

At first glance, the question was a complete non sequitur, but she couldn’t see the bait behind the words, the trick in answering. Blake’s bloodied face offered no council either way. “Not since I was a child. I don’t remember anything about it.”

“That’s a shame. Although I suppose luxury isn’t particularly novel to you, is it?” Turning so he could see them both at once, his smile was wide, pleased. “I was only there a few hours, after I was flown in by airship.”

A twitch fluttered through Blake’s expression at the latter comment, but it was fleeting, too quick to read. When a soft buzz filled the air, the vibration set Weiss’ teeth on edge until he reached into his jacket and pulled out a ringing scroll. “Punctual as always.”

The screen popped open, accepting the call, and a raw fusion of rage and revulsion flared in Weiss’ chest as Silberne’s visage appeared. He had shaved and cut his hair, the freshly pressed lapels of a white dress shirt encircling his throat, but his face was still gaunt, cheekbones framing sky-blue eyes, sharpened to points. Anger twisted his mouth just like it had in the hospital, glistened in his stare like glass.

“Where is my daughter?” Silberne snapped. “My men told me they’ve waited for your arrival more than an hour, without a single sign.”

“Don’t fret, old friend, she’s right here.” The scroll was tilted in her direction, and Weiss kept her jaw tightly set, willing her posture still as stone. He had done this, but how? Dark wood decor was in the distance behind her father’s head, that of his office and not the room where she’d sequestered him.

“Weiss—” Her name ended on an abrupt, frustrated huff when the screen was flipped back, glow bright against the red and steel of that White Fang mask. A subtle flicker went through the man’s tail, like a titter of amusement. “You  _have_  your money.”

“I tipped your chauffeur. He was very gracious.” Golden eyes blinked once. Twice. “Did you truly believe I’d let her live after all she’s done?”

A spark of panic danced around Weiss’ heart as she silently scanned the room. It was bare concrete from top to bottom with a solitary door set in the far corner, black iron with a heavy lock-bolt. The only furniture was the chair she was bound to, and the chain and winch that held Blake suspended above the floor. A dusty bar of fluorescent light provided just enough illumination to see, confirming their weapons weren’t present, if they had been taken at all, and the singular source of ventilation was a drain inches from her feet, but whether the filthy red flakes scabbed along the metal were blood or rust was a mystery Weiss didn’t care to solve.

There was only one way out, and neither of them could reach it like this. A careful tug at her bonds earned nothing but recoil as the rope roughly rubbed at the inside of her wrists; she could turn her hands this way and that, but with both arms held to the central bar of the chair, there was no flexibility from her shoulders down. Blake’s position had to be twice as agonizing, as any sort of struggle risked dislocating something, if not shredding soft tissue beyond any hope of repair.

“Take your anger out on your wayward lieutenant, not my daughter.” Silberne jabbed a finger towards the screen. “She has nothing to do with any of this.”

“On the contrary, Weiss has everything to do with this.” That smile was nearly feral now, like a starved beast on the cusp of feeding. “It’s been five years since Blake betrayed me, Silberne, not mere days. They stole away together to your manor and killed my men, had Adam arrested, sought to ruin all that I stand for. I will punish Blake, yes, but your daughter condemned herself long ago.”

“She was seduced!” Something in her father’s voice trembled, cracked. “She was only seventeen!”

“Is that true?” The mask shifted in her direction now, the scroll turned along with it. “Will that be your defense?”

Weiss swallowed past the bitter dryness in her throat, for it was outrage and not sympathy that burned through her blood at the sight of Silberne Schnee making pleas for her life, casting off Blake to the slaughter as easily he did any other Faunus. That this circumstance might have been exigent, exceptional, didn’t matter — he would have had Blake shot for insulting him just as easily.

“Did you mistake the ring upon my finger for a yoke, father? Perhaps a choke collar?” A faintest hint of a smile appeared on Blake’s lips at the words, bolstering her. If she was to die, it wouldn’t be as anything less than she was. Than they were together. “I married Blake of my own volition, welcomed a Faunus into my life, my bed, my will and testament. I’m not a child anymore.”

Shock played across his face before the screen was angled away from her again. “There, you see? I find it almost admirable that she’s honest, Silberne. It must have come from her mother.”

“I will hunt you down—” He began.

“You will do no such thing.” A low growl emphasized the words, giving them a raspy edge. “It would take days for your lawyer to untangle the trusts and accounts to return the Schnee estate to your hands, and that is time I won’t afford you. When your daughter is dead, when Blake has atoned, the world will see their bodies and then, old friend, I’ll come for your heart.”

The scroll snapped shut, held between calloused fingers in such a grip Weiss nearly expected the case to crack. He slid it back into his pocket and then smoothed out the lines of his coat, made of a fine weave that wouldn’t have been out of place in her father’s closet.

“His lawyer.” Weiss said, betrayal potent enough on her tongue to taste. “Baum?”

“He was quite helpful in arranging my transportation. It was by tracing your accounts that we found you at the Bella Venezia, without even the slightest attempt at subterfuge. I expected a double-booking elsewhere, at least.” The man sounded less like a kidnapper and more like a teacher scolding a recalcitrant student. “No guards, merely an armored car.”

Even in the dim light, she could make out the edges of black ink around his wrists, woven to points like thorns. “You’re the Knight of Roses. You’re the leader of the White Fang.”

“So you were told that much, or smart enough to put the pieces together.” He looked up at Blake, stare mirrored with the same bold color. “You’ll see for yourself tomorrow.”

Dark fur stood up along the backs of violet-lined ears. “Let her go.”

“Do you mean to beg me without the breaking, Blake? I thought better of you.” When his fingers brushed the claws tattooed along ribs damp with sweat, Weiss bit back a protest. “You learned nothing the first time we cut your hide away.”

“It taught me I could never trust anyone who named themselves family.” Blake hissed. “That you would punish a scared child like a willful traitor.”

“You were fifteen, nearly old enough to drive a getaway car. Far from a child.”

“I was fourteen, and by a matter of weeks.” The chain holding the manacles together rattled with a forceful gesture down. “You stripped me like this after you let Adam beat me until I couldn’t stand, cut the mark from me and ensured it would scar.”

“And yet, after, you trained every day, didn’t you?” His thumb swept over the swell of muscle, ignoring Blake’s grit teeth. “Grew stronger than him. Am I supposed to regret making you more than you were before?”

“You should regret that Faunus were starving while we had pissing contests over extorting tithes and killing cops. You cared more about the quarry foreman kissing your ass than the miners with crystals growing in their lungs until they burst. More than the kids getting their ears and tails docked for not reaching quotas, ones they had to make because we took a _cut!_ ”

Blake was breathless by the end, vehemence shining so bright that Aura rose and waned, shadows taking shape until fatigue snuffed them out. It wasn’t anywhere near the first time that Weiss had seen anger play across that sculpted frame, but usually it was cold, the sort forged into a weapon and then plunged in somewhere soft. How long had Blake waited to spit the truth at this man’s face? Nearly fifteen years now, at least.

“Are you finished?” There was no sympathy to be found in the Knight’s voice, only a long-suffering patience she knew too well. Silberne spoke the same way to her when he was disappointed.

“ _My_  only regret is not leaving Adam’s body for you to find.” Blake said.

“That would have been cutting off your nose to spite your face, Blake.” He sighed, hand falling limp to his side. “My mantle was always yours to take, not his.”

White teeth flashed in a snarl. “You’re lying.”

“Adam was never meant for my mask when he shines so in the public eye.” After taking a step back, his tail swept behind him, dismissive as a casual wave of the hand. “The leader of the White Fang must be able to rule from the shadows, behind bars, even. All this time in prison he simply waited as a penitent son. It honored me, but it’s not how an heir apparent behaves.”

“Then it seems your line is cut off at both ends.” Weiss noted icily.

“Like your father’s, soon enough.” He replied smoothly. “Save your voice, Ms. Schnee. We’ll have plenty to discuss tomorrow night.”

She frowned, trying to make sense of the assertion, but before anything else could be asked, he left through the iron door, closing it with a clang that rattled through her bones. There was a sudden groan of pain as Blake reached up to grasp the binding chain, gripping it and pulling up, giving a moment’s relief to sagging shoulders. Corded muscle stood out, fingers locked tightly in the metal links until the strain was too much. Weiss winced when the Faunus dropped back down, swinging like a weighted pendulum until the impact settled.

“This is my f—” she began.

Blake’s head snapped up, the ache dispelled by upset. “No. He was waiting, Weiss. I thought he’d blooded long ago, but I was wrong.”

“The White Fang truly is relentless.” Weiss winced the second the words slipped from her mouth. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I haven’t been an officer since—” A weak laugh made Blake’s entire body tremble. “—since I brought Adam to his knees. It’s just a matter of the formalities now.”

Her eyes widened. “Killing you?”

The question was dismissed with a firm shake of the Faunus’ head. “Whatever he does, Weiss, it doesn’t matter. Offer him nothing.”

“There has to be something.” Insistence shot her voice up higher than she meant. If she died for her family’s sins, so be it, but surely something at her disposal was worth Blake’s life. What fucking  _use_  was any of it if that wasn’t true?

“He doesn’t want the company gifted to him, Weiss. Even if it was framed as tribute, that’s not enough, not when he can burn it to the ground and pluck what he likes from the ashes.”

“Who is he?” Beyond the tenor of his voice, she couldn’t pinpoint what was familiar, why some part of her was so sure they had met before.

“By all accounts, a wolf raised by a lion.” Blake muttered. “The woman who led before treated him like a son, and when he destroyed the war memorial, massacred in the White Fang’s name, she gave him the right to create a brand of his choosing.”

“The rose petals.” All the evidence was laid bare on Blake’s chest, black lines weaving a lush and violent history. “I’m not going to sit here and wait to die, Blake. Tell me how to get out.”

Alarm went through golden eyes before the Faunus’ stare pointedly flickered up and to the right. She was about to demand a better answer when a faint glimmer caught her attention in the corner of the room, concealed by the shadows that gathered there. The lens of a camera was embedded in the concrete, so small as to go unnoticed by any panicked prisoner. What Weiss didn’t understand was how Blake had seen it from—

“You’ve been in here before.” She said softly.

“On the other side of the cuffs.” There was little shame in the words, only a cool and distant acknowledgement. “I doubt the method has changed over the last five years.”

If the feed picked up audio, or if it was a high enough resolution to make out the movement of her lips, anything they planned aloud would be immediately exposed. Weiss had no doubt that signaling or the like would be welcomed with anything but interruptions, or perhaps a gag and the lights shut off. Now Blake’s lack of struggle made sense, disheartening as it was.

A deep breath steeled her, at least for the moment. “Then explain what you can.”

“Don’t take tonight as a kindness.” At her raised brow, Blake smiled, even if the gesture was more haunting than a comfort. “Plenty of interrogators would deny the right to sleep, but he doesn’t care. People we brought here saw it as a hint of mercy or weakness, that they had hours to figure out to escape, but he does it because you’ll wake up hungry and thirsty, disoriented by the light and your position. Everything will be stiff and hurt.”

“Ask for nothing.” Weiss said aloud, etching it like a promise into her thoughts. “He won’t care that you’re telling me this?”

“I doubt he thinks it would make very much difference.” Blake replied, empty and blunt.

Fair enough, as she had never experienced torture in any real sense. “And what else?”

“Find a way to survive.”  _Escape_ _._  “And rest now.”

Weiss swallowed roughly; every inch of her body was tense and awake, fighting off the numbing grasp of the ropes. “I don’t think I can.”

“You’ll need any energy it gives you,” Blake countered. “Close your eyes.”

While the room was an unfamiliar terror, she knew that low rumble well, years of it whispered into her ear and offering a surrender no one else could. Obeying in perfect silence, Weiss focused on the rhythms of her body, surrounded by a cage of darkness rather than concrete. The Faunus spoke again and she latched onto the words, blocking everything else out while coaxed to relax her shoulders, let her feet lay flat against the cold floor rather than recoil from the sensation. Blood and sweat mixed to make the air bitter, but Weiss drank deep nonetheless, lowering her head when consciousness began to blur at the edges.

What a strange mercy to be together when the executioner came calling.

 

—

 

It was the door that woke her, iron hinges screeching against one another.

The sound registered and her body lurched. Pins and needles crawled from wrist to shoulder until Weiss swore they were going to burst out from her skin, the burn of the rope almost a kindness compared to the fluctuation of numbness and pain. A cry of frustration died on her lips, muted to a gasp when she couldn’t move her tongue without it sticking, throat raw and dry as sandpaper. Everything around her spun and dipped until both eyes found focus on the ground, on the steady circle of the drain.

Where the inside of her skull felt like a swamp, humid and sluggish, Weiss cringed when she flexed her toes, cold climbing up the fragile bones of each foot. The concrete may as well have been black ice, frozen solid and sliding slick against her stockings. Without the chair, it was hard to think she’d have any sense of balance at all, even if the rigid strain starting at her neck and locking up her spine begged for relief from the steel frame.

Looking higher than Blake’s shoes was impossible when the light above made Weiss want to vomit, so she spent a long moment memorizing the stitches binding the leather, the cobbler’s mark barely visible between quarter and heel. Aelfwine was a kind and professional man, who hadn’t even blinked when she brought the Faunus to be fit, except to emphasize that all of the shop’s materials were cruelty-free; that is to say they were made by paid labor, be it human or mechanical. Such a fleeting, foolish memory, but it was enough to ground her again, recalling Blake’s playful smile when they joked about whether or not she should get a matching pair — with a heel, of course. Weiss let out a careful exhale, counting all her limbs, ensuring nothing was broken or too absent to feel. Lingering nausea kept any sort of hunger at bay, and even with a headache pounding like a sunburst behind her eyes, it was a small reprieve from humiliation that her body prioritized thirst over the need to relieve itself.

Someone could die of dehydration in three days, Weiss absently noted, unable to remember where she’d learned such a thing. There were hunters who had survived longer in the wild, sacrificing fragments of their Aura to serve like drops on the tongue, even if it left them with a visage the books only described as  _empty_.

A visible tremble made Blake shake from head to toe, and no wonder, considering how frigid the room had to be. Half-dressed and exposed to the air on all sides was far different than her state; a wedding dress wasn’t exactly comfortable attire, but the tangled black skirts and stockings were warmer, at least. She was about to speak, ask if the Faunus was holding up, when the reason the door had opened became terribly clear.

There was so much red. That was Weiss’ first thought before the image before her crystallized completely, the swell of different shades, ranging from that of a ripe cherry to dark heart’s-blood, inscribed within hundreds of petals. Bound together by dark, thorn-choked vines, a garden’s worth of roses began at the Knight’s hipbones, traveling up his ribs until they flared outward like a collar across both shoulders, draping back down. When he stopped in front of her, she could see the outline of the ravenous wolf hidden in his back, in the same fashion as an old statue that was more flora than stone. Devoured by a hundred flowers, red on black on scarred white, scant wonder that he cut the image of a beast from a wild spring, mask severing any human features from view.

One petal for each murder. How many slaughtered, then? She knew the number displayed on Blake’s chest by heart, but it simply couldn’t compare to the man who stood before her, proud of every life he had reaped.

A leather belt was slung low across his hips, trousers different than the ones the night before, and attached to a slender scabbard. All Weiss could see of the knife was the ruby embedded in its hilt, nearly the size of a bird’s egg and encapsulated in fragile silver leaves, and the pommel made of fused slivers of Dust, every sort represented by color. If it had a barrel, she’d think it was the same design as Myrtenaster, but there were enough similarities to feel a nervous twist low in her stomach. Silberne had paid him, been an ally for nearly twenty years; of course they had exchanged gifts.

“Good evening, Weiss.” His tail was idle now, lacking the amused sway from earlier. “You look well-rested.”

She slowly twisted her wrist, praying that a bit more slack had been worked loose during her brief struggle. The rope gave slightly, but every brush against abraded skin threatened to bring tears to her eyes from the sting, draw his attention. There had to be another way. “Was I expected to do anything but sleep?”

“I expected better from Blake.” He drew the knife in a silver blur, the flat of the blade striking just above the jeweled crown inked on one hip. “ _Wake up_.”

By some miracle, no blood was drawn, and Weiss silently let out the breath she was holding. Pain flourished across Blake’s face until it was tamped back down again, so deep that gold-bright eyes were left unreadable, hollow. Aura could only do so much against the simple state of agony, not when muscle and ligaments held out rather than tearing, gravity working its will until bone or tissue finally slipped free. Some small, frightened voice in the back of her head wanted to scream, to sob, to apologize, but Weiss had promised she wouldn’t. In this place, keeping the vow would be more comfort than anything she could cry out.

“Is there a name I should be calling you?” She asked, hoping to deflect his attention.

That entertained him well enough, wolf fur briefly standing on end. “As you aren’t a member of the White Fang — and Blake is soon not to be — I won’t presume to have you call me by any title of deference. If calling me the Knight doesn’t suit you, then use no name at all.”

Unfortunately, the distraction had only stolen seconds of time, and when he circled behind her, knife in hand, Weiss went still. Despite the reflexive clench of fear in her gut, she found it notable that the Knight refused to show his back to Blake, although if it was out of concern or stubbornness she couldn’t say.

His fingers tugged at her bonds, testing the ropes, and even the coincidental brush against her skin made Weiss cringe, more out of disgust than discomfort. He withdrew without a word, confident in her capture, and started to walk back over to the door. For the brief glance she stole through the frame, the only reward was a dimly lit set of stairs, made of the same concrete surrounding them. It would make sense they were below ground, sound muted, but they could be anywhere in Vale.

Iron screeched against iron as the door was shut, leaving the three of them trapped together once more. When the Knight reached out for the crank, Weiss saw Blake tense, prepared just in time for the chain to drop loose. It stopped short after a foot, low enough for both shoes to hit the ground with a thud that echoed all the way back up through the manacles, making the metal quiver and clang. Blake’s knees gave out almost immediately, a hoarse shout escaping as the pressure returned to both shoulders. Veins stood out like serpentine threads over straining muscle until the Faunus gripped the chain again, using it as an anchor to stand, half-staggered.

“The last Belladonna.” With every step he took, the knife came closer, and Weiss couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blade. “You should know it pains me to end your line here. Your parents were loyal until their last breath.”

“To a cause you’ve done nothing to further.” Blake hissed back.

The Knight continued as if there had been no reply at all. “Every officer has the right to defend themselves. So I ask, are you guilty of knowing, willing treason against the White Fang?”

“Yes.” Tears threatened to spring to Weiss’ eyes when the response came without hesitation, without even a touch of remorse.

A cruel flash in his slit eyes were the only warning before the pommel of the knife was jabbed into Blake’s stomach, forceful as a lance. While the strike didn’t break the skin, it forced out what little oxygen was trapped in winded lungs, each gasp to recover it more desperate than the next. “Do you repent for your crimes against us?”

Every breath had to hurt, but Blake’s answer held just as much force as the first. “No.”

Now the blade was turned, its razor-sharp tip pressing above the highest claw mark etched in flesh, a gentle hollow between ribs Weiss had memorized with her fingertips too many times to count. “Do you accept your punishment?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, and thus, no mercy.

The cut was slow but shallow, blood welling up in thick drops and dripping, sedate as melting wax. Expecting the worst had left Weiss tightly wound from head to toe, but any relief was short-lived as she watched Blake’s Aura reflexively try to heal the wound, ragged white threads of energy flaring white and vanishing to no effect. If anything, the expended effort made the blood flow faster, and the Knight’s smile was knowing, pleased.

“Your father gave this to me.” He turned the blade towards her, steel bright enough to offer a reflection. “In case I needed a ‘blade to fall on’. Silberne had such a particular sense of humor.”

How had she not recognized it before? It had been a prototype when she had seen the weapon the first time, one of several lingering on her father’s desk years ago. Dust channeled Aura, but it could sever it too, gouge through the shield that protected one’s body. Such a product was useless for hunters, when Grimm had no souls to speak of, but where it lacked a public application, there were a hundred other purposes to twist it to. Anyone injured by it would heal as if they had no Aura at all, taking days or weeks where a burst of power would close it in seconds, turning common damage into deathblows.

“Why are you doing this?” Weiss asked. He could kill them both in an instant, and yet faltered, making it impossible to guess how long she had left to manufacture an escape.

“ _This_  is a formality. Anyone who takes on the symbols of the White Fang has them stripped away if they are no longer a member.” The knife angled upward, its point laid to rest in the center of the rose on Blake’s chest. “All of these,” now the blade took a diagonal path, pausing over the jeweled crown, “this, your years of service,” blood obscured the dark ink now, but their presence was without question, “and your back are mine to reclaim, Blake. You can keep the garbage on your arms and legs. It’s meaningless.”

Weiss’ eyes went wide, tracing the line of every tattoo. The lacerations alone, flaying someone alive while they hung like a slaughterhouse animal, was unimaginable, but with every wound raw and open, Blake would bleed out, life pouring down into the drain at their feet. Murdered by cuts and small pieces, right in front of her.

“Why?” Now the question was a shout, a demand.

“Are you asking why the two of you will die?” The Knight snapped, teeth bared. “Because you ruined a revolution in the making, destroyed generations of work.”

“We did nothing to you! Nothing but defend ourselves while you sent Adam to kill me, when you laced my car with explosives.” She hissed back, feeling the urge to lunge, if only the chair would move with her.

A wry, pained smile curved Blake’s mouth. “You started paying your workers, Weiss, enough for them to eat. Built them quarters to live in, gave them equipment to breathe in the quarries. The necessities they thought they’d never see.”

“She fed them crumbs in exchange for obedience!” Weiss had never heard a man roar or howl before, but that was the only way to describe the fury in his words. “Enough for them to forget there was anything left to fight for. Why care about what injustices were done when they can live at the bottom with a full belly? Why have any pride when one human coddles them like children?”

“Because they’ll realize it was possible all along and the White Fang wasn’t needed to do it. Every Faunus who has lost a hand or been beaten for not having enough to pay us now knows we lied from the start. And all it took was telling her the truth.” Blake wheezed, coughed to draw breath again. “Our fight was dying before you, but you killed any hope of revolution years ago. At least they  _eat_  now.”

“Impressive, for something you earned on your back.” The knife jabbed forward, halting a centimeter shy of Blake’s throat. “Was it worth it?”

Shame flared for a split second, enough for Weiss to comprehend, any response crushed lest it escape her lips. How simple it would be to scream that she had started changing things months before they had ever consummated anything, that she’d even had the hope of a kiss, much less five years together, a  _wedding_ _,_  but he had no reason to believe the words; it would be evidence of protesting too much, if nothing else. To sully what they had galled her, burned stronger than acid through lungs and throat.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Aligning the knife with the first cut, the Knight measured absently with his free fingers, as if guessing the weight of meat. “My men will travel to every mine and quarry after your bodies are shown to the public, whisper in every Faunus’ ear that everything will be lost now that Silberne Schnee has control again. In their fear, I will bring them to what they’re meant to be.”

“I’ve wanted them gone anyway.” Blake said quietly, and Weiss wasn’t sure if it was the truth or a lie.

“Then show your wife what honor you have left and hold your tongue.” He whispered in turn.

Weiss had seen throats slit in front of her, seen what a man looked like covered in third degree burns, but every victim had already been close to dying, and death was a mercy when no help came. None of that prepared her for the sight or sound of the knife sliding  _in_ , flesh parting until the blade was angled down, flensing away the first strip of skin. Bile filled her mouth at the thin and desperate threads that stretched, trying to reclaim what was cut, and when it fell to the floor with a wet slap, Weiss gagged. Breathing through her nose only brought the molten copper scent of blood, and she bit her tongue until she tasted it too. Why was Blake bleeding alone? Why not her?

Blake, who hadn’t made a sound, who was bearing this monstrosity like it was simply meant to be. How long would it take? How much  _time_ —Weiss blinked, bit her lip rather than laugh, let the dire sound rattle through her. She had a weapon with her, had since before they were brought into the room. Seeing the ring on her hand was impossible from this position, but by curling her thumb, she felt it was still there, dismissed as simple jewelry. The tiny needle was hidden, untouched, sharp.

A dozen stilted plans blossomed in the forefront of her mind, half-concocted until Weiss stemmed the tide, forced herself to think straight. Struggling to the point of nuisance risked that he would lash out at Blake rather than come to check her bonds, and even if he did, she had never used the ring before; turning her hand to make more than a scratch wasn’t likely and the needle could bend rather than pierce his flesh. There was always the bitter chance that she could stab herself flailing at him, and her thumb poised over the ring, stalling there.

Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be a way out, but a mercy if they were caught like this, the right to choose when and how she died. Would that she could ask, say anything to Blake, whose jaw was so tense it was a surprise not to hear teeth crack and grind. Strange to set suicide aside like a backup tool on a table, but there it was now, in the back of her mind.

She’d try another way first, leaving that as a method of last resort. The needle opened with the subtle press of a nail, exposing itself from the band, and Weiss braced the slender curve of metal with her thumb, willing it not to bend or break. Rope could fray, could be stripped layer by layer. It took a moment of fumbling to angle the ring towards her opposite wrist, ever wary of it biting into bare skin instead of the fibers. Then it caught, and she pulled one free, felt it give and snap. One, one of hundreds, more than likely.

So focused on the method, on blocking out the fear of being caught, that Weiss hadn’t noticed she closed her eyes, not until warm steel pressed against the underside of her chin. Daring to look took a long moment, meeting the Knight’s stare, that monstrous mask. She hadn’t heard him move, not even a step.

“Keep your eyes open, Weiss. If I didn’t want you to witness this, I would have killed you first.”

Petrified a second longer with the notion that he hadn’t caught her at all, she kept silent, not wanting her tone to betray intent where her body had successfully hidden it. Instead, Weiss gave a slow and deliberate nod, mindful of the edge of the blade. His satisfaction disgusted her, but better that than provoking suspicion.

“Leave her alone, Hr—” Blake’s protest was choked off by a blurred movement, and Weiss halted a scream at the last moment, seeing the knife shoved into the Faunus’ mouth.

Both of them were still, but rage radiated through the Knight’s body, muscles tense and distorting the roses that covered his back. “Try and speak my name aloud again and I will cut off your tongue first and her ears second. Am I understood?”

With the bevel and spine pressing against either side of Blake’s mouth, speaking would have tested the serrated edge, but a nod was accepted, and the steel drawn free. Blood dripped in a wet splatter after a cough, but as far as Weiss could see, Blake’s tongue remained intact.

“Such disrespect. Not that it should surprise me.” His wrist flicked outward, casting gory refuse down from the fuller of the knife and towards the drain, sluiced clean. “Blake Belladonna: bastard, orphan, traitor. You’re not even a shadow anymore, just useless flesh.”

The second cut was worse. Beginning where the first ended meant delving into already exposed nerves, and something in Blake’s composure buckled, a low groan of pain torn free. Endless red soaked down into white linen, staining it like bone, with no flare of Aura to cauterize it and soothe. Surely it was pathetic to cry when she wasn’t the one being touched, but Weiss couldn’t wipe away the tears that rose, welling up so quickly that they spilled down her cheeks unrestrained. As long as Blake survived, she had time.

Never in her life had she undertaken anything so desperate and frustrating. Any tug on the rope reignited the burn of it on her wrist, tightening and threatening to leave her fingers completely numb. Keeping one hand angled so the ring’s needle would catch on one fiber, then the next, left the space between both shoulders stiff and uncooperative. Would that it was pain and she could push through it, rather than her body rebelling against such simple movements. Movements that had to be slow and blind, as Weiss kept her eyes open and on Blake, but it was breaking her by degrees to watch.

Another gut-wrenching sound and there were two of the claws left. Would he go to the roses next, or the hip, slice the proof of so much done in the White Fang’s name like chaff? Simply unbearable to think when she had never asked the Faunus to change, to forsake the life that came before theirs completely, kissed the tattoos with reverence no matter the harm done.

“Blake—” The name broke from her lips, spilled out like absolution.

Weiss saw the Knight smile at the weak cry, the wolf batting around a rabbit with a broken spine. That was all she could be to him — prey, a figurehead to topple and frighten the masses. Bringing the needle up and over again, the weave started to unravel, and it took everything Weiss had not to surrender to the hatred that boiled up in her blood so furiously, put a storm into her veins. Never in twenty-three years of life had she wanted to kill someone; not as a threat or passionate thought, but a cold and quiet calculation. Now it appeared to be so simple, a barrier effortlessly assailed where before it loomed in the distance.

His third cut was faster, coaxing out a grunt from between Blake’s teeth and little else. One more and he would reach the first scar, seal the old work with new blood. Weiss rolled her shoulders back as slowly as she could, heart jumping up into her throat when the weakened rope stretched, easing by degrees around both wrists. After closing the ring with infinite care, she gripped the coil closest to her fingers and pulled.

There was just enough slack to draw it over her knuckles and back, taking each loop and passing the length of rope from one hand to the other so it wouldn’t fall to the floor. Relief flooded her body at the dissipating tension, but Weiss rebuked herself by biting down hard on her tongue, refusing to allow the sedative to take hold. Blood painted every corner of her vision now, so much it finally fell by drops from Blake’s shoe, gathering in a puddle on slightly slanted concrete. With every addition, it inched towards the drain, ready to be swallowed. She just needed a little more time.

No, Weiss realized a second later, she needed him  _closer_. It was more of a fact than a gamble that his reflexes would be better than hers, and without the advantage of an ambush, chances were he could kill her in seconds. Distracted by his butchery, the rasp of the ropes had gone unheard, but there was no way to move the chair underneath her, nor loosen the bolts in secret. She dragged her toes over one just to make sure, but it was sealed tight, locked flush to the floor.

He paused suddenly, and Weiss froze, praying to any god she could name that it was a coincidence. By all outward appearances, his tail swaying from side to side, he looked thoughtful and not alert, but who could be sure of a man who smiled while slicing pieces off of someone.  _Please, don’t look._

The knife hesitated too, centimeters from untouched skin. “Adam took this all very hard, Blake. He thought he was like a brother to you.”

“A brother who would have killed me without a second thought.” Blake muttered, teeth bared. “I’m glad he’s rotting in prison.”

“But he isn’t.” The Knight flicked the blade as he had before, casting away blood and a gobbet of flesh. “While you were sleeping, I had him broken out. He took his mask back with pride.”

“And he’s not here, watching?” Disdain made dark brows tense, lips pursed tightly together.

“I had to have him sort out one final problem.” His pause was purposeful, measured. “If he arrives in time, I’ll let him show you Cinder Fall’s head.”

That earned a bark of laughter, even as pain made Blake’s fingers twitch against the manacles. “Adam’s dead if you sent him after her. White Fang won’t get past the front door.”

“He knows to pretend he’s a friend of yours.” Wiping off his cutting hand on Blake’s trousers, the Knight took up his task once more, seeking the proper line behind the mess that was already made. “Cinder is years past her prime, but I won’t let her make a nuisance of herself during what’s to come because of your little alliance.”

“Call him.” Violet-lined ears flickered in blatant amusement. “He won’t pick up.”

“Don’t goad me, Blake. Those would be a poor choice of last words.” The knife slid in with a terrible squelch, catching on what had to be bone, and tears finally escaped from the edges of golden eyes, agony overcoming discipline.

Weiss racked her mind for a way to get closer to him, judging the distance by the length her legs could extend. If she stood up, it would take seconds to close the gap, time enough for a single slash of the knife to slit her throat. Whatever expression she wore must have exposed her building panic, for Blake gave her a lingering look over the Knight’s shoulder, mouthed the word  _breathe_.

 _I’m free_ , she mouthed back, proving it with a short shrug, simple now that her arms weren’t bound together. I’m  _free_.

The Faunus’ eyes widened, half a nod given in confirmation. She wasn’t sure what to expect when Blake drew in a deep breath, both hands suddenly seizing the chain above, but an ear-splitting roar rang out, bellowed right in their captor’s face. He jerked back in pure shock, nearly dropping the knife, and Weiss forced herself to stand, rope gripped in all ten fingers like a lifeline.

She wasn’t prepared for her legs to feel like lead, stiff and close to useless, nor for the fact that the Knight was so much taller, even on her feet. His momentary bluster was just that, and he began to turn around, just as Weiss hooked the rope around his throat and pulled with all the strength she had left. The choke of rage in response would have sparked her hopes, were it not for the elbow that immediately drove back into her sternum. Fire flared through her lungs, oxygen forced out in one desperate gasp. He still had the knife, he still—

Metal creaked and screamed from above before Blake’s legs swung out, taking him right out at the knee. There was a hard crack and Weiss felt herself falling with him, twisting the makeshift garrote until the rope was nearly cutting off the circulation in her fingers. Hitting the concrete hurt, but it was a distant pain, filed away for later, and she heard the blade clatter against the drain. Sprawled on her side, Weiss saw him reach for it, struggling against the rope, and she abandoned the choke to throw herself across his body, doing the only thing she could think of to stop him.

Her teeth sank into the thick flesh of the Knight’s arm, biting down until it tore and blood flooded her mouth. Pain echoed through his shout and she did it again, spitting out the remnants like bile when his arm went limp. A nail cracked as she scrabbled at the drain, grasping wildly until her fingers finally fit around the hilt of the knife, knees scraped raw against the concrete as she whirled around. Weiss knew she was holding it wrong, upside-down, but the pommel wielded just as much force when she drove it down into his nose. Cartilage collapsed with a wet snap, and the second blow knocked the Deathstalker mask completely off his face, exposing bright wolf’s eyes to the harsh light from above.

Fingers seized around her neck, two hands gripping like a vise, and Weiss couldn’t draw in even the faintest breath as her throat closed, collapsing. Black holes threatened to devour her vision as she fumbled with the knife, both palms pressed against the hilt, dizzy and half-blind. When she brought the blade down, it stuck, the impact reverberating through her entire body, and she would have laughed or cursed, if there was air. Had she stabbed right into the floor?

Yet the hold strangling her eased by degrees, and Weiss felt something dripping down her face, trickling into her mouth. Warm and coppery like the rest, but how had he cut her, struck her skull? It was only when color came back to the world with broken inhales that she realized the knife was guard-deep in the Knight’s throat, every heartbeat draining him as the severed artery burst. She saw him blink, saw his chest rise, and it wasn’t enough.

As soon as she drew the blade out, it came down again and again into his chest, frenzied slices deflecting off his ribs. Her arms moved liked staggered clockwork until she was pressed against him completely, exhaustion sapping both adrenaline and unbridled rage. Blood poured outward from the Knight’s mouth in thick trails like serpents, swelling in the puncture of his throat, gagging him. Leaning down, Weiss gripped his chin with one hand so he had to look, ensuring the last thing he would see was sky blue and white, proof of her line, her name.

“Perhaps I should pin one of your roses to  _my_  chest.” She uttered, twisting the blade as she looked into his eyes, dulled to the color of brass.

His dying breath was warm against her lips.

A second passed, perhaps more, and Weiss felt her fingers limply surrender their grip, palms too slick with gore to keep a hold any longer. Everything felt weak, cold, and she barely had the wherewithal to move before vomiting, repulsed by the sight underneath her. No longer a man but a husk of jagged flesh and splintered bone, baptised in red. There was almost nothing in her stomach to spare, but clear bile trickled out with every heave until she was hollow, emptied out to nothing at all.

_Blake._

“Blake.” It came out as a hoarse rasp, less than a whisper.

There was no answer. She had to crawl away from the corpse before turning around, cursing her dress with every movement as it stuck to her legs and shredded stockings, dragging across the concrete. The Faunus hung from the manacles like a statue, perfectly still, body limp and knees bent. Blake’s head was angled down and away from the panel of flesh that had been flayed almost to the bone, ribs concealed by a thin layer of fascia and congealing blood. Beneath it, the old scar could have been a flaw in marble, a chunk knocked out by a careless chisel before being drenched in color.

“Please.” Weiss gasped, urging herself towards the crank embedded in the wall. “Please,  _no_.”

Gripping the handle as tightly as she could, she threw her weight into turning it until the hoist gave, chain slipping to its limit. A sickening thud filled the room as Blake dropped to the floor, manacles striking the concrete with a clang that echoed and stung. On hands and knees, Weiss closed the distance between them, listening for a hiss of breath, a groan of pain, but there was no sound but her own pleas, trying to find where the cuffs connected together. A small lock held each one shut, refusing to open no matter how much she pulled and twisted.

He had to have the keys. Laying a trembling kiss on Blake’s brow, Weiss tried to stand again, but her knees buckled almost immediately. Crawling it was, then. The knife stuck out from the Knight’s chest like a landmark, easier to focus on than the destruction underneath it. She had nearly reached the halo of blood surrounding him when screeching hinges stopped her right in place. The door.

Of course. There was a camera watching them the entire time, Blake had proved as such, and why would the leader of the White Fang be alone? One of them had seen, someone had to have looked at the screen and noticed. Weiss choked back a sob, reaching out for the knife. They would suffer, if nothing else, trying to take her or Blake again.

“Holy shit.” She didn’t know the voice, but the tang of gunpowder suddenly filled the air.

Concealing the blade beneath the folds of her skirt, Weiss shifted on her knees to see the intruder, only to have to stop and stare. Two women, neither of them Faunus by outward appearance, were standing in the doorway. Both had sweat dripping down their brows, mild cuts and burns scattered across arms and cheeks. Any thought of defending herself was snuffed out by the massive crimson rifle held by the shorter of the pair, a wisp of white smoke curling from its heated barrel. Shotgun shells were visible in the gauntlets of the tall blonde besides her, half the clip left in each.

Huntresses. They had to be.

The rifle lowered, fingers drawn away from the trigger. “Are you Weiss Schnee?”

Hearing the question made Weiss grip the knife tighter, shoulders going rigid. Who had sent them? Silberne, more than likely, trying to reclaim his daughter and ensure Blake was dead. She refused to be taken from one trap into another, much less let either one of them step further into the room.

“Who are you?” A fraction of volume was left in her voice, but she made it count.

“We’re here to sa—” When the blonde tensed to move forward, Weiss pulled out the knife, held it with shaking hands. “—woah, there.”

“Who  _are_  you?” Weiss demanded.

“I’m Ruby,” the other huntress said, holding out both hands once the rifle magnetized itself to her back. “That’s Yang. If you’re Weiss, we were hired to find you.”

That much was obvious. “By who?”

“Cinder Fall.” Yang replied, casting a glance over one shoulder and towards the steps. “We just fought through an entire warehouse of really angry Faunus to get down here, so I really hope you’re the one.”

“Cinder.” How had she known—Weiss dropped the knife without thinking, stunned. “Yes, I’m…Weiss. I need your help.”

“I think you already took care of the problem on your own.” Gloved fingers gestured to the fallen blade, lilac eyes focused on the corpse just inches away from her. “But we’ll get you out of here.”

“No, get Blake. You have—” The disbelief was too much, jumbling her thoughts into nonsense. “Get Blake out of the chains. Check for a pulse. Please, I need to know, please—”

Weiss chanted the last word like a mantra, curling down into herself as she sobbed. Some part of her parsed the quick shuffle of footsteps, heard metal wrench and snap. Whatever small talk passed between them, she couldn’t hear, not while holding onto her knees. Her thumb brushed against the ring over and over, waiting for the answer. A minute, all it would take was a minute to be in the same place as Blake, wherever that was. Surely, they had earned the same fate by now.

“There’s a pulse, but no Aura, I don’t—it’s thready as hell.”

Alive. Still alive. Weiss relaxed her hand, but the tears didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.

“That’s a lot of fucking blood, Ruby. ” Yang warned.

“I’ll do the carry, Yang. I’m faster. Just get her in the car.”

There were suddenly hands on Weiss’ shoulders, trying to help her stand. One arm was braced, keeping the collapse of her knees from taking them both down to the floor, but she swayed despite Yang’s strength.

“Is Blake—” Her mouth wouldn’t cooperate, syllables breaking into pieces.

An iron-tight grip encircled Weiss’ waist, gold strands of hair twinkling like jewelry on the edges of her sight. “Your partner’s in really bad shape, but we’re going to get you both somewhere safe, alright?”

“Partner?” Something about that struck Weiss as hysterical, vision swimming when Yang took a step forward. She couldn’t breathe in deep enough to laugh. “We’re married, actually.”

Before the world tumbled into darkness, the last thing she heard was that twice-damned door slamming shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Wherever she was, the space was small and stifling, enclosed on all sides. Room enough to kick and thrash, bruise her knuckles on the walls, but there was no give, only impenetrable darkness and an encroaching fire in her lungs, insisting there wasn’t enough air to breathe. Something pricked her arm, light and sharp as a bee sting, and Weiss tried to claw at the juncture of tendon and bone, pry out whatever had pushed deep, spreading a numb chill through her veins, but steel seized both wrists, locked tight, and the world turned upside down.

Pitch black was washed away by endless red, heavy enough to choke on, so deep it dizzied Weiss to look at, only for a powerful hand to grab her nape and squeeze, tighter than a wolf’s jaws. The pressure was impossible to resist, and she made the mistake of inhaling right before her face was forced beneath the surface, submerged until the fingers grasping her were wet too. Wet with ichor, the salt-sweet copper filling her nose and mouth, sealing off any hope of breath as Weiss gagged, unable to even sob when her eyes were congealed shut.  Yet she heard clear as day when he spoke, whispered like a priest offering benediction.

_Finally, you have a taste of the blood your family’s spilled._

It was a nightmare. In the pure, blind core of panic, Weiss seized on that truth, but consciousness wouldn’t come, and the dreamspace shifted again, easily as flipping from one picture to the next. Now she could see her hands, pristine and untouched, empty until the knife appeared from nothing, the ruby in its hilt so cold in her palm it leeched the heat from every inch of skin it touched. Darkness concealed the floor in a thick fog, but even so, Weiss knew the feel of concrete beneath her feet, revealed when a light came on overhead.

Not the dim bulbs she remembered but a golden column, a spotlight leading her forward, welcoming its performer to the stage. Metal links jingled together like chimes, an almost exuberant signal before Blake came into view, stripped and hanging. The Faunus’ tattoos were intact, black ink clean as if they had been freshly done, and a small smile beckoned Weiss the last few steps. Her hand rose, the motion instinctive to cup Blake’s cheek, feel the warmth there. No words were exchanged; none needed to be.

Silence gagged them both when her other arm tensed, leading the tip of the knife up corded muscle before it settled just below the notch between the Faunus’ ribs, sliding right by centimeters until the angle was perfect, just so. The tension in Weiss’ muscles was a split second warning, enough for horror to prime her veins, and the blade moved of its own accord in a harsh thrust upward. Somehow the wound was bloodless, even when she wrenched and twisted the hilt, piercing Blake’s heart. Stunned by her own cruelty, she could only watch as the color drained away from punctured flesh, surging through lines of stygian ink. Petals blossomed, first pink and then crimson, skin straining until it burst in an arterial torrent, but the lines of the Faunus’ face were relaxed, as if this was preordained, inescapable.

Someone was screaming. The sound hurt and Weiss’ hand slipped from the knife as she lost her footing, collapsed in a growing pool of blood. It stuck to her hands, soaking through her stockings, and her knees refused to unbend, buckled and failing to find purchase. With every passing second, the scream grew in volume until she had to cover her ears, reality tearing its way back in.

Red. The room was still red. Weiss knew her eyes had to be open as they strained at the sockets, but everything spun and warped, the same color repeating, stamping itself deeper and deeper until a sudden, blinding streak of gold shot across her vision. Hands gripped her shoulders tight enough for bones to creak and the scene steadied, violet eyes emerging from the fray, the chiseled lines of a half-familiar face.

“Hey, you’re alright.” Yang’s fingers slowly relaxed, palms a steady pressure instead of a grounding hold. “Can you talk?”

“Yes.” The word came out breathless; she was panting like she’d just sprinted a mile.

With recognition of Yang came recognition of the room itself. Weiss had been a willing guest in the bed just two years ago, when the wine-dark sheets were an invitation instead of a terror. White and black accents took up the walls as they had before, ebony furniture and gilded sculpture heralding little change in Cinder’s tastes, but a painting had been added to the far wall. Her gorge rose, forcing a dry, bitter swallow to push the spike of nausea back down. The work was beautiful, truly, framing a landscape of Forever Fall where one huntress seduced another, but the impaled, gore-drenched corpse of a Beowolf staked near their tryst was too realistic for her to examine in detail.

“Well, that’s a start.” Standing up straight, Yang crossed her arms. With the gauntlets absent, a thick knot of scar tissue was visible along one tan forearm, spreading out to lines thin as a spider’s web up to the elbow. “Thought you might have lost your voice after the screaming stopped.”

Reflexively, Weiss touched her throat, felt the slightly sore vibration when she made a soft sound. Fragments of the nightmare hovered over her thoughts like carrion; it was a miracle she didn’t shriek her throat raw from the end all over again. “Blake—”

A gesture from Yang drew her attention left, and Weiss’ shoulders sagged, defeat and relief one and the same. The Faunus lay just a foot from her, unconscious. Where she expected to see split, ragged flesh, a mass of white gauze and tape concealed the injury, packed so thick it may as well have been a cork sealing Blake’s body shut. An IV protruded from one hand, the clear tube bound to the needle trailing up to a half-drained bag of blood that hung from a clean steel hook, _For Faunus Use Only_  printed on the surgical plastic in white warning letters.

Seconds passed before the Faunus’ chest rose, slow and steady, but it did; still breathing, still alive. Weiss could have wept, if the thought hadn’t exhausted her down to the bone.

Although the comforter was bunched up around their hips, she could see Blake was naked beneath it, whatever was left of the ruined trousers taken elsewhere. Glancing down confirmed her dress had been stripped as well, although a silken pearl robe offered some modesty in its place, belt tied loosely around her waist. No blood flecked or fell when Weiss ran a hand through her hair, and even her nails had been scoured clean; the faintest scent of jasmine lingered on skin and robe alike, more likely soap than perfume. Someone had bathed her, but from the way violet eyes instantly averted when a shift to sitting up bared one thigh, it hadn’t been Yang.

“We kept Blake up in the front seat to keep weight off that side until we got here, and Hei’s not a half-bad medic when you light a fire under his ass.” Concern, tinged with pity, tightened Yang’s face. “You were in the back with me, passed out. At least I thought so. Halfway there, you started seizing, breathing too hard.”

Weiss winced. “I was having nightmares.”

“Considering what that room looked like when we walked in, I’m not really surprised.” Yang tapped the inside of her arm with two fingers, right above where the edges of the scarring stopped. “I had to stick you with something to calm you down. Cinder told me you weren’t allergic.”

Setting aside where Cinder had gained access to her medical records, Weiss turned both arms palms up, examining her skin. Near the juncture of her right elbow, there was a puncture mark that had already healed shut, slightly flush with pink. “It’s fine. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that she keeps sedatives in her car.”

That earned a low, disbelieving laugh. “It was a surprise to me. I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

“Yang.” She weighed the syllable in her mouth, paired it to memory. “Like the huntress, Yang Xiao Long?”

“Even you’ve heard of me, huh?” The blonde’s boot briefly ground into the carpet, a small and nervous tell. “Ruby and I aren’t really in your business, ma’am.”

“Weiss is fine.” Holding to formality with the woman who had carried her away from a torture chamber seemed a touch cold. “And there aren’t a lot of sister pairs on the front of magazines. You don’t have a team?”

“No, not any more.” An old hurt flickered through Yang’s eyes, pushed away a second after.

Before she could find the proper apology, change the subject, the far door of the bedroom opened. Ruby hesitated before crossing the threshold, carrying a black duffel bag heavy enough to cant her stride to the left and a stack of half-folded clothes tucked in the opposite arm. A red tie threatened to slip free before she caught it, the tail dangling between two fingers until it was laid to rest on the table with the bag, the contents of which rang with the impact of metal on metal. On second glance, acknowledging slightly rounded cheeks and the smallest line of stress between both brows, Weiss realized the huntress was older than she expected, although younger than her sister to be sure.

“When you didn’t come back out, I thought you might need help,  _jiĕjie_.” Brushing back a lock of hair away from gunmetal eyes, Ruby’s attention moved to her. “How’s your head? With all the blood, it looked like you took a pretty hard hit.”

She was saved the indignity of her stomach growling, although not by much. Weiss swallowed past the stickiness coating her tongue, the distant halo of a headache. Unpleasant as the sensation was, she could pinpoint it to bodily needs, not a lingering concussion. “Fine. Could I get some water, please?”

“I got it.” Yang said, turning on her heel. “You can tell her about the bag, Ruby.”

“Sure.” The reply was followed by a brush of hands when they passed one another, palm against knuckles. Whatever transpired within that touch, Weiss couldn’t read, but sadness held steady in Ruby’s expression until Yang left the room. “Sorry about that. Sister stuff.”

“It’s fine.” Weiss murmured, not sure what else to say.

Just like that, the sorrow was gone, like a switch had flipped to make Ruby smile. “It’d be nice if being partners actually gave you telepathy, huh?”

Her fingertips brushed Blake’s shoulder, the dark hair unwoven from its tight braid, and then lower, past the curve of warm muscle branded with ink to the slender chain of silver still locked in place around the Faunus’ wrist. What had Blake thought of her in those last brutal moments awake? Had she been seen, driving the knife deep? “Perhaps.”

Undeterred, Ruby slid a finger under the strap of the bag and tugged. “Cinder sent us back to sweep the place after we dropped you off, and we found this in the security room. It had your weapons in it, your scrolls, and Blake’s clothes.”

Weiss raised a curious brow. Where Myrtenaster had gone never crossed her mind, although it would make a suitable trophy with Gambol Shroud, something for the Knight to savor after they had rotted away. “I appreciate you bringing them back.”

“Well, the clothes were cut up.” Ruby’s smile turned sheepish, then hopeful. “But I talked to Junior and he had some old shirts and stuff from when he wasn’t headache tall, so I picked out what I thought would fit.”

“Headache tall?” Weiss frowned.

“You know, when you’re tall enough that if you don’t duck through most doorways, you smack right into them.” Rapping fingertips against one temple, Ruby let out a soft laugh. The sound was light and real, soothing even if Weiss couldn’t find the will to imitate it. She was all the more surprised when a binder was pulled out of the pile of clothes, black fabric stretching taut as it unfolded. “One of these was sliced to pieces in the bag, so Junior gave me his backup. It might not fit perfectly on Blake, but it’s better than nothing, yeah?”

The sudden rush of emotion left Weiss feeling frayed, a livewire, exposed and overloaded. Something so simple to unravel what little composure she’d shored up again. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

“No big deal.” Ruby’s smile brightened, making her look even younger. “Trust me, I know how important that sort of thing is.”

“Nevertheless.” The smile she offered in return was brittle, ready to crack her teeth and split them down to the root. Kindness given so freely was rare, one that would have aroused suspicion if the huntress didn’t seem so painfully sincere. As it was, Weiss knew she wasn’t in a place to disregard gifts.

“Everything else had to be tossed because of the blood—” Stopping short, Ruby bit her tongue, a sound sucked between her teeth.

“The scene was…cleared?” A difficult implication to let lie; Weiss could feel the implied debt mounting by the second.

“One of Cinder’s girls took care of it. Pink and brown hair, about this high?” Ruby gestured a few inches below her shoulder. “Never talks. Yang doesn’t like her at all.”

Far be it for Weiss to critique such a morbid skillset, considering the consequences that hung on the balance; in fact, she was quietly grateful that Cinder kept someone on retainer to handle such matters with cold efficiency. “And why is that?”

That earned only a demurral, silver eyes falling to the floor. “It’s kind of a long story.”

One she had no chance to pry out when Yang unceremoniously returned, forcing the door open with an off-kilter knee. In her left hand was the water promised, in a heavy pint glass close to spilling, but in the other was a red plate splattered with as much grease as food, and the second the scent hit Weiss’ nose, her stomach desperately clenched. She couldn’t recall any other time that a burger hastily slotted into a bun with a few paltry leaves of lettuce ever seemed appetizing, but her body begged to differ, dry throat suddenly damp with saliva.

“A couple days without water usually means a couple days without food.” Coming to the bedside, Yang offered both, carefully setting the plate in her lap. “It’s just bar stuff, but it should stay down. Do yourself a favor and take it slow, though.”

However well-intentioned the warning, the logic of it fled the moment Weiss took her first bite, barely even tasting it before she swallowed. It was warm and good, which was all that mattered, and only the aforementioned grease spilling rudely down her chin made her hesitate, wiping it away and washing down the rest with slow gulps of water. Before this, she had only ever missed a meal once in her life, and that memory remained bitter, enough for her scarred eye to close and push the image back. The night of the duel, the dinner after like nothing was amiss, had been too much, and glaring in outraged silence at her father had earned the punishment. At breakfast the next morning, Weiss had kept her head low, pretended the stitches didn’t itch or gall her like a beaten dog.

“Thank you,” she finally said aloud, hoping to recover some grace.

“Probably the most anyone’s ever enjoyed Junior’s cooking, honestly.” Yang shrugged, tossing that curtain of golden hair past broad shoulders. “When you’re done, Cinder wants to talk with you. Room down the hall.”

The last piece of the burger went down like a stone, sticking in Weiss’ throat. Blake hadn’t stirred the entire time beside her, heedless of hunger or conversation. “I’d prefer not to leave Blake alone.”

A quick look was exchanged between the sisters, but it was Yang who spoke again. “I’ll stay here, make sure nothing changes.”

“I can—” Ruby began.

“Just tell the girls I’ll be out later, okay?” Yang’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know I distract ‘em from work anyway.”

Any building tension snapped with a laugh as Ruby turned towards the door. “Well, that’s certainly true.”

Discomfiting at it was, Weiss knew she was in a poor position to argue. If Cinder wanted to speak with her elsewhere, it was for a reason, and Blake couldn’t be moved without obvious difficulty. After a gentle touch along the Faunus’ cheek, she slipped out of bed, the hem of the robe dropping below her knees. There was no place for the water and plate to go save the side table, clouded glass and garish lacquer an eyesore against hand-carved ebony. Looking presentable was out of the question at this point, half-dressed and bones aching, but Weiss look a moment to smooth her hair out of her face and re-tie the robe, leaving the knot of the belt draping from one side.

“Second door on the left.” Yang intoned. “Should be the only one unlocked.”

Stealing one last glance at Blake, Weiss left the bedroom, grimacing when plush carpet became frigid tile in the hallway. The hall itself was empty and silent, save for a faint thrum that carried through the far doors, leading to the club proper with an overabundance of bass. All of the other entrances appeared to be the same on the outside, so she counted the doors and started to walk, hyperaware of making any sound, as if some noise could shatter the illusion, place her back in the chair again. If nothing else, Cinder would always offer some sort of price for her head, where the Knight had not.

The brass door-handle was strikingly warm compared to the floor, enough to make Weiss’ palm sweat before she found the will to turn it. Hinges softly creaked as she stepped inside, hit by a wave of heat strong enough to stagger. Weiss hissed between clenched teeth as it sapped her strength and left something languid in its place, its source a massive, blazing fire on the distant side of the room, before which Cinder stood. Black silk swathed the mantle before her like a mourning shroud, framing narrow, rigid shoulders.

As soon as Weiss recognized the sigil emblazoned on the older woman’s back, the scent of the air inflamed her senses, even more overbearing than the heat. Jasmine and honey, thick enough to be sickly sweet, blended over a layer of alcohol, pure and cutting. There was something underneath the chemical stench as well, earthy yet metallic, but Weiss couldn’t suss it out, not when every drawn-in breath burned all the way down her throat.

A greater mystery was Cinder’s state of dress, or rather the strange combination of a low-cut burgundy sheath with dark stockings underneath, a pair of red yet opaque heels, and a scarf wrapped thrice around her neck dyed ashen grey. Weiss had never seen Cinder wear such a thing before, even in winter, and with the white-hot wood in the fireplace nearly about to spill past the iron grate, the garment had to be absolutely stifling.

“Darling,” the older woman’s voice was scarcely above a whisper, slender fingers gesturing to the floor, “mind the rug.”

She obeyed with care, halfway past the woven sprawl when Cinder finally turned to face her. It was as disarming as a shift in the sun, and a long moment passed before she noticed the silver in Cinder’s hair had widened by degrees, more of a stripe now than a streak, but her features showed no sign of age. If anything, her eyes were brighter swathed in firelight, cheekbones honed and lips full, painted with their customary carmine. The latter unsettled Weiss with the realization her own face was bare. She had never been without makeup around Cinder, even as a teenager; with puberty had come immediate desire for the skill, transforming it into a daily habit. An unexpected vulnerability, on top of so many others.

Yet even with waves of black spilling over her shoulders, the breathtaking beauty Weiss knew so well, her attention was drawn to the scarf again. Her throat seized, dry and tight from the heat, the perfume. “Cinder.”

The distance between them closed in an instant and a hand cupped her face. Cinder’s touch was like a brand, hotter than the room, and Weiss prayed she hadn’t made a dire mistake. “Oh, my girl. It seems we both survived.”

It was real. This all was.

Tears spilled from Weiss’ eyes before she could stop them, a staggered sob shattering her composure, and the hand on her cheek slid back by inches, gently cradled her nape. The soft scrape of nails soothed her, followed by a subtle tug forward. Pressed against Cinder’s breast, the warmth of the room was subdued, like the contact insulated her, despite the fireplace hissing and bleeding sparks so close to their feet. Time passed in a haze until the worst of the crying was wrenched from her system, soaked fabric sticking to her tear-sodden face.

“How did you know?” Weiss gasped. “How did you find us?”

Something in the questions made Cinder pull away, breaking their embrace entirely. A hard glint replaced the tenderness in her stare, eyes narrowed until they were golden slits, a harrowing reminder of how the Knight’s face looked obscured by his mask. “The matter at hand is if you told anyone where  _I_  was, Weiss. Did you?”

“Of course not.” A hasty wipe of the tears that lingered blurred her vision, offering only a fragment of dignity in its place. “I—”

Adrenaline snapped Weiss’ sight into sharp focus as the runes etched in Cinder’s flesh ignited, sparks of orange transmuted to burning gold, brighter than the heart of a forge. She had only seen them alight once in her youth, revealed as a demonstration of power, and regarded the scars — that’s what they were, truly, the very essence of flame forced beneath the skin and bound to the soul — with the same fascination children had for fireflies, in wonder of how such a thing could be. Now it was nothing short of terrifying, more so as the room became boiling hot; Weiss had no defense, no blade, no Dust.

“Cinder, I swear it.” Words paled in comparison to the immolation waiting to be unleashed, but it was the only thing she could offer, feeling her knees start to weaken. “I was never asked. We were interrogated, but not about that. Never.”

Heat pricked along Weiss’ spine, sweat making the robe cling to skin, silk scratching between her shoulder blades. The carved lines faded to the color of dying embers while Cinder’s rigid posture eased, and the sigh that left the older woman’s throat filled her cheeks with a lantern’s glow for a second before being snuffed out entirely. Weiss was left trembling at the display; there were always rumors about those who chose to take Dust into their bodies, what they were capable of, but it was another thing to imagine she could have been stripped down to the marrow with a kiss, turned to a pillar of ash by touch.

“I hoped it was so,” the rasp in Cinder’s tone was heightened now, scraping the end of every syllable, “but I had to be sure. Two nights ago, Adam Taurus came here to kill me, and he slipped past my guards with barely a ripple of warning.”

Offering an absent nod, a touch of fear continued to unsettle Weiss’ stomach. “He—the Knight—told us, bragged about it.”

“Oh, Hróðvitnir.” Amusement tugged at the edge of the older woman’s mouth.

Weiss blinked, not sure quite what Cinder had implied. “Is that his name?”

“The one taken at birth, supposedly. There’s a Beowolf in ancient legend, who grew old enough to learn to speak, and that was what it called itself.” The fall of the older woman’s hand was a subtle dismissal. “Considering his tail and the politics of his parents, it seems suitable enough.”

“You knew him.” It was strange to think they were near the same age, but certainly possible.

“In a way.” Cinder admitted, lips pursing. “Why do you think I came to the White Fang for money years ago? There were other — human — enterprises I could have pursued, but none with a motive I knew well.”

“But Adam—” Now Weiss’ head was spinning, fatigue conspiring with confusion. “—where is he?”

“Step back.”

She complied with a jolt, unsure what to expect until Cinder’s shoe slid under the edge of the rug and flipped it back. For a moment, Weiss couldn’t make out what she was looking at; a black stain had seeped into the floor, scorched lacquer and wood in some places, but in others, there was a congealed fluid, dried to a pale, sickly yellow. Ash scored gray streaks like chalk through the mess, ground in by someone else’s footsteps, and a heady malodor of rot rose to the air now that it was exposed. Charred blood and bone, fat rendered down to sticky tallow, and boiled marrow, all slowly decaying; the reason for the choking cloud of perfume was far too clear now, and even when the rug was laid back in place, vile hints of it remained in the air.

“I’ll have to replace my floor.” Cinder noted absently. “He made quite the mess.”

A layer of bile lingered on Weiss’ tongue, thick and bitter. How much did Blake know about Cinder, to guess this would be the outcome in the middle of being tortured? “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“If not intact.” The end of the scarf was pulled, unwound with care, and with the third loop, Weiss’ eyes went wide, right before gray fabric slid free. A jagged slash curved across Cinder’s throat, the wound closed but marred by thick scar tissue, pale with the sheen of new flesh. “I suppose Adam expected I would bleed out before killing him.”

“ _Cinder_.” She stepped forward without thinking, surprised by the way the older woman shied when her hand reached out, fingers a gentle pressure above the runes but below the deep gouge.

“Allow me some vanity, darling.” Now the soft, lowered tones made sense, hoarse and yet not. “It will heal more cleanly with time, but in the moment, instinct is for triage.”

“Blake was sure you would survive. Laughed about it to the wolf’s face.” Weiss whispered, touch remaining a moment longer before slowly withdrawing.

“I’ve always found it a pleasant surprise not to be underestimated.” Cinder wrapped the scarf once more, slow and deliberate. “Although your lovely Faunus is not yet out of the woods.”

“The blood—” Weiss began.

An arched brow cut her off. “Not the blood, darling, nor the exterior trauma, although that certainly doesn’t help. The problem is the weapon that was used.”

“You have the knife.” In an instant she was sure, like a punch to the gut. “You took it.”

“I had it recovered, yes, and I hope you understand why it won’t be returned.” Cinder’s lips pursed into a tight line. “The blade has been cleaned of any incriminating details and won’t leave my custody, which is all you should be concerned with. I told your father a decade ago not to let such weapons fall into circulation, and in the wake of his misjudgment, I’m taking the matter into my own hands.”

Alarming as the revelation was, Weiss couldn’t find any part of herself that wanted the knife back, much less to ever put it to use again. Arguing seemed fruitless. “What does that have to do with Blake?”

“What do you think happens when someone’s Aura is severed, Weiss? Not drained or exhausted, but cut into and left open.” There was a second of slack in Cinder’s jaw, and she couldn’t read the faint slip as anything but regret.

“I don’t know.” Weiss answered softly. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“The answer is why when I discovered your father’s invention, I warned him never to sell it. Such a thing is useless against Grimm, but against Faunus and humans, the destruction can be absolute.” Cinder’s sigh fell in line with the extension of her hand, fingers brushing Weiss’ cheek, the edge of the scar beneath one eye. “And why I found it so cruel that he ever deigned to use it on you.”

Shock had dulled the pain then, deteriorating to anger as the night went on, as she bled and bled and bled. Weiss had never asked why it healed so poorly, why she was forced to sit still for stitches rather than her Aura swallowing the injury, but the answer appeared to be so simple at the time — Silberne wished it to scar, so it had. The rest of the world bent to her father, why not her flesh too? Foolish now to think, a daughter deluded by a parent’s own grandeur, but so she believed, until looking in the mirror no longer provoked a flinch.

“What can be done?” Weiss asked, trying not to shy from the touch. “If you wish to confront my father, he’s convalescencing in my house uninvited.”

“So I thought.” A nail scraped her jaw before Cinder’s hand fell. “After I killed Adam, I thought to call. Your lawyer answered the line.”

Loathing immediately boiled up in Weiss’ gut. “Baum’s loyalty has left much to be desired.”

“I know you have that young woman in red attending your calls, or a dozen other servants that would answer and screen them before anyone of importance ever would. When he wouldn’t tell me where you were, nor let me speak to you, my suspicion was piqued. And I don’t believe in coincidence.”  

“They sold our location to the White Fang.” Weiss let out a soft laugh, lighter than she felt. “We had just gotten married.”

Stark surprise was a rare thing to see on Cinder’s face, and she relished it for the span of seconds it appeared. “Mm, then you can consider my rescue a wedding present.”

“One I fear I can never repay.” The admission was quiet over the crackling of the fireplace, but genuine.

“It was offered freely, but Blake’s recovery is another matter.” In the shifting light, Cinder’s expression hardened to diamond edges along jaw and cheekbone alike. “To heal such damage requires power I’ve sworn not to use again. I don’t break oaths lightly, even to prevent a death.”

“You  _have_ to.” Weiss snapped. What had her father wrought, that demanded such a thing? “Cinder.”

“Hush, now. The fact that I’ve even said this much is a testament to how much I value you.” A beat passed, the chastisement ringing in her ears. “I have a number of conditions. Meet them all to the letter and I’ll lay aside my better judgment.”

There was nothing she had to barter in return, no place but weakness to negotiate from, so Weiss nodded. “And they are?”

“First is that you’ll never speak of what I do and how I do it. You would be best served forgetting it entirely and spend that effort grateful for Blake’s sudden return to consciousness.” Cinder frowned, but it was less overbearing than the harsh stare. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” She bit her tongue back on a  _ma’am_ ; this echoed more like a lecture than true conversation.

The older woman’s approval was faint, given with a fraction of a nod. “Second, is that you will not leave this club during the next forty-eight hours for any reason.”

It was pronounced coolly, like a fact, but Weiss’ lips parted in a breathless denial. “Baum and my father have to be conspiring right this second to take the company from me, to leave me powerless and nameless. I’m not allowing that to go unchecked for two more days.”

“Nothing is going unchecked.” Cinder countered sharply. “A pair of my employees are maintaining a watch right now and will continue to do so. The house has been still, with almost no one in and out. Your father can’t report you missing for another day, but I’m sure even then, he won’t until it presents an advantage. Appealing for renewed control of the estate will take weeks at minimum, you know that.”

“But why? What good am I here?” Little could be done without publicly revealing their survival, much less holed up in a well-known criminal enterprise.

“The good is for my sake, not yours, although I wouldn’t ask if I thought it would put you at any particular disadvantage.” Caution glimmered in Cinder’s eyes, but whatever she was withholding wasn’t clear. “As it is, both you and Blake will need the time to regain some strength. Two days may far too soon, depending on how your beloved awakens.”

That much was true, even if it sent an anxious rush up Weiss’ spine. “Alright, neither of us will leave until then. What else?”

“The last condition requires you to do nothing at all. With the leadership of the White Fang decapitated, their entire enterprise is up for grabs, and I very much intend to take it.” The older woman’s smile reemerged, bright and venomous. “All I ask is that you don’t buy any of it out, no matter what offers you may receive. Their infrastructure extends from the docks to the trainyards, and I want every single piece.”

“But the quarries—” Weiss began.

Her protest was dismissed with a brief wave. “Those have always belonged to your family, Weiss, at least since there were humans to claim them. And, to be quite honest, I have little use for Dust at this point. I’ve procured plenty over the decades.”

“But the White Fang control a majority of Faunus businesses.” Weiss’ brow furrowed in concern. “What will happen to the owners? Their workers?”

“I’m happy to leave them as they are. Anyone who doesn’t approve of the torch passing will be bought out instead.” Cinder shrugged, shoulders fluid. “If they’ve survived this long under the White Fang, they’ll know a better deal when they see it.”

Taking a moment to draw out the boundaries in her head, starting at the coast and working east, the big picture could only be called a staggering monopoly. She had only a blunt awareness of the areas Cinder had already sunk her claws into, but with the addition of the White Fang holdings, her control would solidify over the leylines of Vale — the transport and trade that kept the entire city safe and flush with resources, the sort no one could afford to see disrupted. Without question, the older woman would essentially own the capital, a city powerful enough to place pressure on its surrounding villages, perhaps even the kingdom at large.

“Not Atlas.” She countered aloud. “If they have any investments there, I should have claim to them.”

“You’re more protective of your homeland than I expected,” Cinder mused, tapping a finger against her own cheek, “but fair enough. The list is small, but I’ll provide a scroll detailing them, so long as the rest come into my possession.”

Too small of a fraction to consider a victory, to let her forget she was trading an entire city for Blake’s well-being. Yet, Weiss didn’t think twice. “Done.”

“Then we have a bargain, don’t we?” Even with the rasp, Cinder’s voice was sweet and cloying as honey. She turned on one pointed heel, abandoning the glow of the fireplace for a shelf recessed into the wall, scanning its contents before picking up a box that was, upon closer observation, carved out of obsidian, lid inlaid with colored glass. “You’re so much more reasonable than your father, darling.”

“You’re sure Blake will wake up?” Weiss asked, willing her voice not to waver.

“I wouldn’t promise a full recovery without cause.” Sitting down in the tall, straight-backed chair that dominated a corner of the room, Cinder balanced the box on her lap and eased the lid open. “Nor would I have kept a trophy on the mantle for Blake to take home if I expected it would only end up in a casket.”

Arching a curious brow, Weiss approached the fireplace, but it wasn’t until her feet brushed the brick of the hearth that she could see the black cloth draped over the mantle wasn’t part of the decor, but concealing something. When a nod was given in tacit permission, she carefully pulled it away, mindful of catching any wayward sparks. Once the cloth slid free, Weiss recoiled, taking nearly a full step back.

Adam’s sword was displayed on a simple stand, but it no longer possessed the keen lines and clean steel she remembered. The sheath was gone — burned to ashes or unsalvageable, Weiss assumed — but even the chokutō itself had changed, its blade scoured of reflective polish, now tarnished by a half dozen other colors, warped by unimaginable heat. At first glance, the hilt had been carved to match the wielder’s grip, yet the longer she stared, the more it became clear the material had melded, moulded to the desperate grasp of a dead man. A perfect copy of Adam’s fingerprints were engraved beneath the crossguard.

“Has a touch more class than a severed head, doesn’t it?” A soft purr of a laugh left Cinder’s throat. Something clinked inside the box as she searched, jingled like a chime.

“I suppose.” Weiss wasn’t sure Blake would want the weapon at all, but she wouldn’t refuse a gift on the Faunus’ behalf. Instead, another sort of curiosity pricked at the back of her mind, urged a question to her lips. “How is it that two of the most famous huntresses Vale has to offer ended up doing your dirty work?”

Cinder’s hands went still, briefly distracted from their task. “Dirty work? I’m sure they thought it was the stuff of heroes, rescuing the richest woman in the kingdoms from a sadistic gangster.”

“Is that what you said?” Amusement was quickly chased by irritation; she wasn’t some hapless maiden. “How did you even meet them?”

“I was as surprised as you are. It’s not every day I find a famous, powerful woman attempting to drink me out of house and home.” Cinder hummed in thought, nails clicking against obsidian. “Nearly two years ago now. As far as I’m aware, there was an incident involving Yang’s mother at the time, and her breakdown was rather…public.”

“So you took the opportunity to recruit her?” Weiss asked, frowning deeply.

“Not at all. I promised her a liberal tab if she kept her patronage to my club alone. She tipped well, and she paid even better for me to kick out reporters and photographers. Ruby came to pull her out of a fight in the parking lot one night, and they both slept it off in my back room.”

After laying the cloth back over the sword, Weiss scoffed. “That can’t be all of it.”

“After a few months, Yang started drinking less and carousing more, so I introduced her to Melanie and Miltia.” Glancing up from the box, Cinder smiled. “Before you accuse me of procuring, I wasn’t sure if they would have any chemistry. Luck won out.”

Luck, and an eye for Yang’s particular tastes, to be sure. “So they’re together?”

“Quite happily by all appearances, but Yang has a keen mind under the bravado. It didn’t take very long for her to figure out my…variety of business interests or what her lovers are paid to do for me.” The notion didn’t appear to bother Cinder in the least. “Her silence keeps them close, she knows that.”

“And Ruby? Does she—” Weiss’ brow knit, considering the possibilities.

“Oh, no.” Cinder gave a minute shake of her head, smiling even wider. “She doesn’t date anyone — ever — if I understand correctly. I suppose you’ve never listened to one of their interviews.”

“No.” Following the news of well-known hunters had always left her with bitter, twisted pangs. “Never.”

“They’re inseparable.” Cinder said simply, pulling out a crystal of white Dust from the box, carved with too many subtle facets to count. “It’s quite endearing, actually. I could only dream of such a relationship with my sisters.”

“Controlling one gives you the matched set.” Weiss steeled herself with a slow breath; it took everything she had not to glance back toward the door, to the room where Blake lay.

“So remarkably convenient. When I told them someone I cared for was in horrific danger, it took little convincing. I even paid their customary fee.” The box was closed and Cinder stood, holding the crystal with utmost care. “This should do. Come with me.”

She couldn’t comprehend what  _for_ , but Weiss followed without a word, leaving the room for the long hall. As soon as the door closed, it was infinitely easier to breathe, and difficult not to swallow down greedy gulps of cold, recycled air and draw attention to herself. Cinder walked with purpose, heels clicking on the tile with a strange echo, the same sort of one heard when a finger circled the rim of a wineglass.

Yang stood up as soon as they entered, closing the book in her hands. The oxblood leather cover was inscribed with golden characters Weiss didn’t recognize, but the pages looked worn, well-thumbed through. The blonde returned it to the closest shelf in awkward haste, but Cinder didn’t react with any sort of displeasure, sweeping past to the bed.

The bag attached to Blake’s IV had been drained dry in her absence, but that was the only sign of any movement on the bed, each breath the Faunus took sluggish and faint. Sweat and a sickly pallor had emerged from Blake’s skin, turning it dull, almost gray when compared to the sheen of the sheets. Something inside Weiss trembled and fractured, forcing her to clap a hand over her mouth rather than sob or shout. Her face already ached from crying, jaw sore from clenching her teeth.

“Take a moment for yourself, Yang.” Cinder said, setting the Dust down on the bedside table. Grasping Blake’s hand between her own, she slowly started to peel back the tape holding the IV in place. “Half an hour.”

“Alright.” Yang rolled her neck in a slow stretch, quiet pops following one after the other. “Mm, sorry about the book.”

“I never said you couldn’t read them, darling. Don’t fret.” She slowly drew out the needle, a tiny drop of blood welling from the puncture high between Blake’s knuckles. “There’s only one forbidden fruit in  _this_  room.”

Whatever that meant, Yang’s head bowed, tension flourishing through taut shoulders, and she left the bedroom in silence. The deference — if it could be called that when it was artificial enough to be bottled — was unsurprising, but Weiss wondered how long that would last. Those bright eyes had the same look Blake’s did at times, projecting a rage that festered over years and years, forced roots too far into the heart to be cut out. In the moment, there was only soothing through the pain until it slumbered again. Small wonder the blonde had crawled inside of a bottle; Weiss was glad Blake stayed content with cigarettes.

She had a fleeting, nonsensical urge to go out and buy a pack of the Faunus’ favorite brand, something to offer when Blake awoke, but it was instantly stifled by a reminder of the bargain that had just been made. Perhaps Junior or one of the others had some on-hand she could overpay for.

“Help me.” Cinder ordered, gesturing to Blake’s other arm.

Unconscious, the Faunus was dead, unyielding weight, and Weiss felt every muscle of her body strain as they turned Blake over, now laying back against the bed rather than protectively hunched on the uninjured side. The sheets were tangled around both legs, but Cinder left them as they were, instead prying the fingers of Blake’s hand open one by one, placing the Dust against that same sweat-slick palm and forcing a fist. Gravity kept the crystal in place even when the Faunus’ reflexes couldn’t, and Cinder took hold of Blake’s other hand as well, arranging it limply just above where the heart beat.

“What are you doing?” Foolish or not, Weiss burned with curiosity.

“More than you should be allowed to see.” Cinder answered sharply. “Now take my hand and close your eyes.”

Weiss barely opened her mouth when Cinder took her hand for her, squeezing so tight knuckles cracked. “Had you remained my student, perhaps I would have taught you the nature of this, but you are not. Simply be glad that the reason I learned this has passed, and that I retain the knowledge from a war you will never know.”

At that, Cinder’s fingers relaxed a touch, tight but no longer bruising. Weiss closed her eyes, wary of being recalcitrant again, but gasped softly when a sensation akin to static shock — more discomfiting than painful — shot through her skin.

“Keep them closed,” Cinder warned, and she felt the older woman’s weight shift, descending to kneel on the bed, “and lay your other hand on Blake. Anywhere, as long as you’re touching bare skin.”

She obeyed, blindly feeling outward until her fingertips brushed the Faunus’ shoulder. “And now?”

“Stay still and quiet.”

Cinder drew in a deep breath, and on the exhale, Weiss felt the same shock one hundred-fold. The feeling was brief, too short to measure, but it left her with a skin-crawling sensation, every faint hair on her arms standing up on end. A scraping sound came shortly after a whisper and tear of gauze, the sound of tape being ripped away setting her teeth on edge. The second the scent of blood filled her nose, Weiss had to fight not to open her eyes, especially when the sound that came next was nauseating, a wet and lingering snap followed by a wave of overwhelming heat, pouring from the focal point of Cinder’s hand, but it didn’t provoke the same fear as the threat from before. No, this time she was surrounded and not consumed, encased by the flux of energy.

Suddenly Cinder released her hand and Weiss shuddered as the temperature around her plummeted. She shivered until her breathing returned to normal, but hope sparked when her other hand squeezed Blake’s shoulder. The skin no longer felt stiff or clammy, but the warm, solid muscle Weiss knew so well.

“You can open your eyes.” Cinder said.

She had no idea what to expect, but Weiss was still rather shocked when she looked. The mass of gauze packed into Blake’s side had split, old blood made new with fresh red, but all of the tape binding it in place was no longer attached, as if something from the inside had shoved outward and displaced it. Beneath that, Weiss could see the pink of scar tissue stretching to each edge of the jagged, horrible wound. It was sealed. The Faunus’ face was locked in a silent rictus of pain, but the flush of life warmed both cheeks, chest rising and falling in a deep, regular rhythm.

The only strange thing was the crystal resting in Blake’s hand. Where it had previously been the color of pure quartz, the entire crystal was now an inky black. The Faunus’ fingers had gone slack around it, but there was no stain or sign as to where the discoloration had come from.

“What…happened?” Weiss asked, watching as Cinder gingerly retrieved the crystal.

“Corruption.” Holding the Dust up towards the ceiling, the older woman squinted at it. Some light shone through, but barely. “More than I expected. Another few hours and it may have been irreversible.”

Shock reverberated through her when Cinder promptly dropped the crystal into her abandoned glass of water. The second it broke the surface, the Dust disintegrated into dark particles, spreading through the water like silt. A thick fluid floated to the top, viscous as oil, and the rest settled to the bottom, tiny white fragments that resembled bone as a whiff of brimstone filled the air, there and gone. Dust took incredible pressure to grind or shape, but the crystal had simply collapsed, strength devoured from within.

“My face was cut, but it never did this.” At least, she presumed. The alternative was chilling.

“His punishment was a foolish risk to take, but not a mortal wound. A soul can heal with time as well, but when one is cut into, the injured left to die,” Cinder shuddered in open disgust, “nature rebels against such violation.”

“By killing?” Weiss asked while Cinder stripped away the rest of the bandaging, crushing the bloody mess into as small of a ball as she could. “You said Blake would die.”

“ _Enough_  would die.” Cinder corrected sharply. “Enough that you’d pray someone had the mercy to cull the rest. Ask me no further. I’ve overturned too many oaths in one day.”

Weiss nodded, even if she didn’t entirely understand. “When will Blake wake up?”

“A couple of hours, I expect, now that it’s just simple exhaustion.” Climbing off of the bed, Cinder smoothed out the lines of her dress. “I’ll have Yang come back to keep watch.”

Brushing her fingers over the bracelet locked around the Faunus’ wrist, Weiss’ other hand went to the matching key at her throat. “No, I’ll stay.”

“You’ll accomplish nothing watching Blake dream.” Cinder gestured to the robe. “You need some clothes, first and foremost.”

“My dress—” Weiss began.

“—is in little more than pieces.” Regret flickered through Cinder’s eyes. “Had a known it was your wedding dress, I might have removed it with more care. You have my apologies.”

Their suitcases, too, were more than likely in the hotel room, far from here. “The ceremony was lovely. I’m sorry we couldn’t invite anyone.”

“Blake doesn’t seem like the type for a stag and doe party, anyway.” Cinder smiled. “Come now, let’s find you something suitable.”

Despite her reluctance, Weiss could see the Faunus was sleeping peacefully now, relaxed against the pillows. The scarring was extensive, thickest in the places where each cut had began, but there was no blood, no raw flesh or further twitches of pain. Cinder’s hand trailed over her shoulder as a quiet lure and Weiss slowly turned to follow, her last image of Blake one of the Faunus cradled in red silk.

—

“Is there anything you  _can’t_  do?” Weiss asked, raising her arms when she was directed.

“Now isn’t that a question for the ages, darling?” Cinder pulled the last stitch through the bodice, severing the connection between thread and needle with a practiced hand. “My aunt was a weaver. She taught me a great deal about fabrication.”

A fortunate thing, considering it had become painfully clear with the first dress Cinder picked out that she had neither the breasts nor hips to fill out a single garment in the older woman’s wardrobe. Rather than leave her in something ill-fitting, a small tailor’s case had been produced, flush with needles and thread, scissors and a host of pins. Pins that now set alterations in place, little silver heads arranged like a constellation through black linen. It was one of the few dresses that wasn’t red and didn’t have a plunging neckline, although Cinder had remarked she’d only ever worn it for funerals.

Nearly a decade had passed since Weiss had been clothed so meticulously, not by a maid or harried tailor but by someone who knew her body, the desires she wouldn’t voice. Her mother had quite enjoyed the holidays and all of their trappings, taking any excuse to throw a party or dinner so the house could be filled with people and music. For each one, there was a new dress and a host of accessories, something sparkling bestowed on her with a smile. Even when her jewelry box overflowed, Weiss refused to wear any necklace but the apple she had been given first; only when she added Blake’s key had the chain ever changed.

“You’re frowning.” Cinder said, drawing a measuring tape along one thigh. “I didn’t prick you with a needle, did I?”

Her hair was too short now to be brushed out by gentle strokes, ornaments woven into white locks until she felt the strain in her neck. The memories were too old to provoke even a phantom pain, stored away on slides of glass in the farthest reaches of her mind. “No. I was just…thinking about my mother.”

“Aurora was lovely.” Fingers slid underneath the hem, skirting along Weiss’ skin. “Although, I only met her once.”

“I wondered if you had.” Weiss murmured, turning when she was directed. “No more than that?”

“After she passed, I knew Silberne couldn’t even bear to hear her name. He and I had enough excuses to argue without drawing blood from old wounds.” Rising from the floor, Cinder looked over her shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror as a few more adjustments were made.

“Did you know him so well?” Picturing them at odds was difficult; her father had always been the picture of politeness around Cinder, expecting that she would be respectful and dutiful to every lesson the older woman offered. If only he knew. Or did he?

Nails bit into her hip, the pressure blunted by layers of fabric. “Ask what you truly mean and I might answer.”

“Were you ever together?” Caught as she was, the question seemed so base, but Weiss’ curiosity won out. “Did you…sleep with him?”

“No.” Cinder was a skilled liar, but the surprise that flit across her expression gave the denial a weight of truth. “Never. For as long as it’s been, I can say with confidence that your father was never with anyone else after Aurora died. For all of Siberne’s flaws, a lack of devotion to his wife is not one of them.”

Would that some of that devotion had passed to her rather than becoming some rotten, warped thing, filtered through pristine bottles of whiskey. The worst thing, Weiss thought, was that she was quite sure that he loved her. Yet it was not enough, not by far. “Comforting.”

“I won’t tell you to honor him, Weiss, much less obey him. There are some who simply poison their families, destroy them from within.” Cinder found the zipper at her back, slowly drawing it down, and Weiss bit her tongue. Was  _sororicide_  something to be said aloud? “Step out of this carefully for me, darling. I’ll finish up the alterations.”

So the subject was sealed, and Weiss kept her silence while drawing the robe around herself again, the light camisole she’d been given in place of a bra far too thin to ward off the cold radiating from the hardwood floor. The last thing she expected to miss was the blazing fireplace in Cinder’s lounge, but it lacked the mirrors arranged around this room, glittering like a panopticon. Dust and fabric alike was strewn about the shelves, remarkably messy when compared to the bedroom and its calculated lines, almost devoid of color.

“Do you think I could—”

A hard slam echoed from down the hall, followed by a shout. Cinder went still as a statue, but her eyes were suddenly aglow, sparking into a blaze when something metal clanged, whatever it struck solid like wood — or flesh. Fear blotted out Weiss’ thoughts for a blinding second; Myternaster was in the other room with Blake. Who was even left alive to hunt them down, to try—

“Your lover’s awake.” Cinder murmured, reaching for her scroll.

“What?” Weiss snapped.

“Ruby, get back here  _now_.” The device was tossed aside before the older woman gripped her wrist, tugging her towards the door. “It may have been a mistake to have Blake wake up in the presence of a complete stranger, considering your circumstances.”

She sucked in a sudden breath, sharp with panic. “No.”

By the time they ran out towards the bedroom, the fight had already spilled out into the hall. Yang was trapped underneath Blake, jamming a knee over and over into the Faunus’ scarred side as rough hands encircled her throat, squeezing so tight that veins and tendons popped from the skin. Blood streamed from a gouge in the blonde’s brow, but that gave no explanation for why violet eyes suddenly shifted to crimson, and the sucker punch Yang threw to Blake’s jaw snapped the Faunus’ head back so hard Weiss gasped a prayer when she didn’t hear bone shatter.

Despite the blow, the next thing she heard was a ragged wheeze, Yang’s legs kicking out frantically to try and scramble out from the weight pinning her down. Flesh bulged from between the Faunus’ fingers, knuckles white and face contorted with rage.

“Stop!” She screamed, heedless of splinters and glass scattered across the tile, remnants of the door and something that had exploded into pieces. “Blake, please!”

The Faunus looked up, fury tempered by shock, and it was the opening for Yang to get in another punch. An ethereal glow suffused her skin, hair burnished to gold and the impact threw Blake off of her, hitting the floor hard enough that breath was stolen, knocked out completely. Both of them lay on their backs gasping, struggling to rise before Cinder put herself between them, catching Yang’s fist to stop another blind swing.

“Let it burn out.” Cinder whispered. Muscle trembled up Yang’s forearm, nearly twitching. “I know it hurts, but it’s over.”

“I can’t—” The blonde rasped.

“You can breathe.” A weak huff came in response. “Hush, now.”

Weiss kneeled by Blake’s side, taking the hand that weakly reached in her direction. Aura sparked to assuage the swelling and blood marring the Faunus’ face, but it didn’t stop the choked inhalation, fading adrenaline leaving weakness behind, bright eyes fluttering on the edge of consciousness.

“I’m right here.” She whispered, kissing scarred knuckles. “We’re safe. We’re okay.”

The brutality they had inflicted upon each other was galling, but Blake began to recover after a long, still moment, and by the sound of Cinder’s low soothing, so was Yang. Weiss stiffened when the far doors slid open, admitting Ruby tense and on the alert, one hand resting back on her scythe, but at the sight of the floor, she relaxed, building anger swept aside by weary familiarity.

“Everyone okay?” Ruby asked, pointedly stepping over the glass to put herself between them.

“I’m…” Confusion twisted Blake’s face, caught between a frown and snarling. “How are we here?”

“Cinder sent the cavalry, one of which you just pinned to the floor.” Weiss lightly gestured towards Ruby too, in case the point wasn’t well-made. “Why were you two fighting?”

“She—” The Faunus’ head jerked in Yang’s direction, “—was standing over me when I woke up. Touching me. I didn’t know her face.”

“You started breathing hard out of nowhere, twitching.” Yang snapped back. “I thought you might have been burning up. Or having a seizure.”

The blonde tried to sit up, aggression ready to flow and ignite once more, but Cinder and Ruby each grabbed a shoulder to keep her in place. A low growl rumbled up from Blake’s chest and Weiss moved to cup the Faunus’ cheek, directing amber eyes her way. Remnants of pain lingered in the stoic line of Blake’s jaw, but by some mercy, the newly healed wound hadn’t started to bleed again. With the mess of the hall, it was amazing there were little more than mild scratches from the glass, since Yang was the only one with a stitch of clothing on between the two of them.

“Is he dead?” Blake breathed the question softly, as if fearing the answer.

“Him, and Adam too.” The same hands that had driven the blade deep into the Knight now stroked and comforted, gentle as Weiss could manage. “Yang was just watching over you, alright? Ruby’s her sister.”

Dark brows knit, piecing two and two together. “The huntresses?”

“We really do have a reputation, don’t we, Yang?” Ruby smiled, offering a hand up that the blonde gladly took, staggering to her feet.

Weiss bid to do the same, only to hiss in surprise as pain lanced up her heel. A thick splinter of lacquered wood jut from the flesh there, jagged as a thorn. She hadn’t even noticed stepping on it.

“I should probably offer to pay for that door.” She murmured, reaching to pull it out, but Blake was there first, drawing out the splinter with a surprisingly steady hand. The sting faded in seconds, healing shut.

“The bedroom isn’t in much better shape.” Blake admitted as they stood up together, mindful of the slivers of glass and wood scattered across the floor like caltrops.

“I would say further introductions are in order, but your reputations precede you.” Cinder said.

“I thought you were dead until I saw your back.” Yang intoned at Blake, pointing to the roses decorating the Faunus’ chest. “No one’s supposed to make it out of the White Fang alive, even their Shadow.”

“They certainly did their best to make sure of that.” Glancing down at where the new scars melded into old flesh, the Faunus frowned. “You’re fast for a human.”

That startled a laugh out of Yang. “And you hit like a goddamn train. Just be glad it was me, ‘cause if you touched my sister, it’d cost you something permanent.”

“Yang!” Ruby chided.

Broad shoulders rose and fell in a half-hearted shrug. “Just saying.”

“Ruby went out of her way to find you a binder and some clothes,” Weiss said, quick to intervene. “Why don’t we see to that?”

The weighted stare Blake and Yang exchanged made it clear there was no chance of an apology, but neither would come to blows when collateral damage was unavoidable. Cinder eased the tension even further when she stepped in front of Yang, obstructing her view with a smile.

“I won’t ask anything more of you. Tell Melanie and Miltia they have the night off, alright?” That caught Yang’s attention, and Cinder smoothly added, “the VIP booth is yours as always.”

Hostility crackled through their limbs when Yang passed Blake, but it was nothing more than raised hackles, posturing ingrained by violent practice. Each measured step was echoed by her sister, Ruby’s hand resting on Yang’s forearm and stroking the scar there with her thumb in slow circles.

“Ruby.” Blake said softly, and both of them froze, heads turning in near-unison. “Thank you.”

Her wary look transformed into a wide, earnest smile. “It’s no big deal. Just try and stay out of fights, okay? I think we’ve already raised the insurance on this place twice.”

“Four times, but who’s really counting?” Cinder chimed in.

“I’ll take care of the damages,” Weiss said, watching Yang and Ruby exit back into the club proper.

“They’re minimal compared to Yang’s usual.” The older woman demurred. “There’s no need.”

Glancing into the bedroom, Weiss saw that Blake’s IV stand had been twisted into an almost unrecognizable coil, a marble-topped table shattered, and an entire wall of bookshelves upset. The standard had to be like an earthquake struck.

“How long was I out?” Blake asked, tracing the edge of one scar.

“Almost twenty-four hours.” Cinder replied.

“But—” The Faunus looked up at her, begging the question, but Weiss knew no answer would be forthcoming.

“Consider it a blessing.” She said, forcing a small smile. “Please.”

The aura of glassy dismissal vanished from Cinder’s frame. “You must be half-starved, don’t you?”

Blake swallowed the hint, if not gracefully. “Yes.”

“I’ll have something brought to the study for you.” Nothing could strip the sheen from Cinder’s hospitality when she deigned to play hostess, it seemed. “I hope you don’t take it unkindly if I suggest the two of you bathe after as well. You were in no state to before.”

Weiss’ stomach did a minor flip. She had woken scrubbed free of blood, skin still carrying the scent of soap, and could think of no one else who would have done it. Blake noted her dis-ease — or perhaps just the robe — but was wise enough to refrain from commenting.

“That would be a relief.” The Faunus’ smile was faint, reflecting the guttering flame in Cinder’s stare. “Lead the way.”

Settled in the study, Blake ate three times what she had, wolfing down an entire tray brought in from the bar. Cinder was nonplussed, even offering to take Blake’s measurements so she could tailor Junior’s clothes to something a touch more suitable. Her generosity was a stinging salve; their debts were settled yet the price hung overhead, sharp and glittering as a blade.

What would Blake think of her once the truth was set in stone?

Regardless, the simple luxury of a bath wasn’t diminished, although Cinder’s tub was anything but simple. The sunken marble basin fit the two of them with considerable space to spare, although they sat entwined with one another, the Faunus’ back pressed against the wall while she lay between muscled thighs. Blake’s calves hooked around hers, keeping their legs spread, knees resting against either side of cool, carved stone. From a distant view, it might have appeared erotic or even possessive, but to Weiss it was just the intimacy of their bodies bound together, grateful that they had the chance again.

While the scars were sensitive to touch, the warm sluice of soap and water was welcomed, and Weiss gently scrubbed every inch of Blake she could, learning the new planes of skin and nerves. She rinsed the Faunus’ hair first before being prompted to lean back and enjoy strong fingers massaging her scalp, working the knots of muscle in her nape out once both shampoo and conditioner were washed away.

Now they lazed amidst fading coils of steam, water newly refilled so it was no longer tinged with the blood that had been scraped away. Blake’s arms were wrapped around her stomach, breath warm against the back of Weiss’ neck. Stolen peace was better than none at all, and if they were to be kept here, why not be greedy with it?

At least until it was broken with a question.

“How is it that I healed from a wound that couldn’t be staunched in less than a day?”

The Faunus’ palms were anchors on Weiss’ skin, preventing a sudden rush of fear from carrying her away. “I can’t say. You have no idea how much I wish I could.”

“What did she take from you, then?” Blake asked.

“Take?” A rueful smith tugged at Weiss’ mouth. “Very little that I already possessed. Two days from us here, during which we cannot leave. That and my promise of silence.”

Fingers halted at her hips, thumbs working slow circles in the hollows. “And?”

“The holdings of the White Fang when they fall. I’m not to touch them.” Weiss said.

“So she’ll lay claim to everything.” Blake’s sharp exhale could have been shock or awe; telling which was difficult. “We had claws in half the city.”

“The body of Vale is hers. The soul — the council — they’ll bend the moment that becomes clear.” Saying it aloud, Weiss was hard-pressed not to laugh. “I salvaged the footholds in Atlas, but she gave them to me out of charity.”

What had she expected? Perhaps the hot surge of rebellion against her skin, angry hands around her throat? Or simply Blake snapping the bracelet draped from a tattooed wrist. A rebuke for being so weak, surrendering without first blood drawn.

Anything but a trail of kisses laid down the side of her throat, lighter than the flutter of wings, Blake’s body pressed flush against her from behind, thighs tensing to draw their hips closer together. Weiss shivered, eyes locked on her ring, resting on the counter near the snowfall silk of the robe.

Its poison glittered under the light, band bright and untarnished.

“Do you regret it?” Blake whispered, the outline of every word pressed against her shoulder.

“Forsaking an entire city for you?” Breathless, Weiss covered the Faunus’ hands with her own, so very tempted to urge them lower. “I’d buy and sell the four kingdoms if that’s what it took.”

A sudden shift crushed her mouth to Blake’s, the kiss at an agonizing angle, but Weiss didn’t care. She swallowed every drop of passion forced between her lips like it was the first time all over again, fed on the familiar sound of the Faunus’ rumbling purr. Only physical necessity broke them apart, echoing each other’s panting, desire scouring their eyes with black.

“We never got our night of consummation, did we?” Now the laugh was real, bubbling up in her throat.

“No.” Blake admitted, but the mirth drained away in an instant. “Although I’m not sure I could survive it right now.”

Weiss found where the scarring was most prominent and offered a brief caress, watched the wince Blake tried to suppress. They had already pushed a bit too far. “I would rather it was in our own bed and not Cinder’s bathtub. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The light renewed in golden eyes and Weiss relaxed, ignoring the splash of water over the side as she settled back into place. “Is that all we’ve missed?”

Her lips pursed. “What do you mean?”

“The last thing I saw before I passed out was the knife in your hand.” Blake murmured, but there was none of the anger she feared, no distaste. “The last thing I heard was the blade sinking into flesh, but you don’t have a scratch on you. You killed him yourself, didn’t you?”

“Hróðvitnir.” Weiss struggled to fit the strange syllables between her teeth.

“Who—” Blake hesitated. “—Cinder. She’s had her ear to the ground long enough.”

“Is it really such a secret?” She frowned. “Would you have put  _The Knight_ on a tombstone?”

“We cremate. Our masks are interred with the ashes. There might be an altar photo for the highest-ranked, but the names we’re supposed to carry here.” The Faunus’ fingers brushed her temple. “Far more knew me as the Shadow than they ever did as Blake Belladonna.”

“You don’t—” Worry stoppered her throat, numbed her mouth. “—you don’t think differently of me?”

“For defending yourself?” Blake sounded incredulous.

“For stabbing someone so many times I lost count.” Weiss shot back, eyes squeezing shut. The proof had been washed away, but the memory remained fresh, bleeding into absent thought. “He was a Faunus. With who I am, with all that my family’s done, how does that look?”

“Do you want to believe you killed a monster instead of a man? How many sins should I retell to balance the scales?” Blake’s arms tightened around her, living proof. “You would have killed him if he was human too, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.” Was it that simple? Weiss let out a measured breath, watching her legs sink deeper into the water. “How did it make you feel? Killing for the White Fang?”

Silence took hold for a few minutes, but she didn’t protest. Blake always gathered thought with meticulous care, stripping away the chaff.

“Nothing, really.” The Faunus began, knuckles rapping gently against smooth marble. “But _nothing_  in the sense of a void that kept growing in me. I told myself it was work, duty, but that wasn’t enough to stop it.”

Another pause followed, but the quiet was weighted and full, nearly bursting at the seams.

“There was guilt too, sometimes. When I had to kill someone because they were a witness instead of a target. Husbands, coworkers, servants. Nothing that earned another mark for my chest, just…the cost of doing business.” Blake sighed. “Then there were a few I enjoyed.”

Weiss straightened up a bit at that before she could counter the reflex. “Oh? Why?”

“Because they weren’t just obstacles in the White Fang’s way, they were scum. Landlords who would only rent toxic, dilapidated tenements to Faunus, to quarry workers with children. Cops who profited off our backs and Faunus-only prisons. I felt righteous when they were terrified of me, when they realized death had come calling.”

A line her father had separated himself from with too much money and power to be refused. Would she have been the same if they had never met as equals, if she had taken the reins as Silberne wished, thinking that all Faunus were beasts behind closed doors? The thought was staggering, not so much because it disgusted her, but because it was such a real possibility.

“There was a councilman here in Vale a few years ago. Fitcher.” Blake said.

“I know the name.” Weiss replied. Councilman Fitcher had been found hanging from the chandelier in his mansion, tortured and strangled to death.

It was only now that she made the connection.

“He was my target. Although he’d been elected on a platform that made Legume look forward-thinking, he was making hundreds of thousands of Lien off technology used to humanize us. Surgery for ears, tails. Retina replacement. Any other business and we might have filed him away as just another perverted politician, but the White Fang has never tolerated…hiding our nature.”

“So you made an example of him.” Weiss said simply.

“That was the plan. I waited for Fitcher’s night staff to leave, for him to fall asleep. Then I dragged him out of bed and started beating him.” Blake might as well have been reading a manual aloud, for all the passion infused in the words. “It was standard practice. Sometimes targets would give up information we didn’t know about, hoping it would buy them a pass.”

Brutal, but practical. “Was something different?”

“Most people either go right to the bargaining and begging or they lock up, thinking they’ll have more endurance than I do. The rest try to escape. Fitcher, though, he was crying out and screaming, but he wasn’t asking for anything. Instead, I kept catching him looking at the door to his closet.”

“Why?” The sense of that aside, something about the Faunus’ tone left her ill at ease. Anticipation pricked at her skin, then slipped away.

“My guess was that there was a gun in there, or money. Once I made sure he wouldn’t be moving for a while, I decided to take a look. Fitcher starts panicking, yelling for me to leave it be, but that didn’t stop me.” Blake’s head shook, as if to throw off the memory. “I slide the door open and there’s a Faunus woman in there. In a cage.”

Weiss’ jaw dropped, but she didn’t dare ask if Blake was serious. The implication alone was a far cry from a joking matter. “God.”

“Do you want to know what she said? The first thing?”

Her stomach twisted, bile rebuking the question. “Tell me.”

“She says, ‘I tried to stay quiet, sir, I promise’.” Vitriol hissed through clenched teeth, anger rolling off the body behind her in waves. “I’m standing there, gloves soaked with Fitcher’s blood, and she’s looking at him, afraid of  _him_. Had marks all over her body, and they had to be from that night, since nothing had healed yet. If I’d come in a few hours earlier…”

“You couldn’t have known.” Weiss said, even knowing it was mild comfort. “What happened?”

“I snapped. I can’t even tell you what I did to him, except that it was everything that I knew how to do. Everything was a mess, too much to cover up, but when I looked back at her, she wasn’t scared anymore. She was just waiting patiently.”

Imagining Blake in the throes of rage strained the edges of Weiss’ capabilities. Even when Adam had attacked them, the Faunus’ response was calculated reflex, taking him down with efficient — and remarkably non-lethal — force. Just an hour before fighting Yang, it had been a mistake, but the intent was self-defense. Seeing that resolve snap, unleashed with the simple desire to kill — well, it wasn’t if she had room for judgment, even if she wished to.

Leaving her musing aside, Weiss asked, “What was she waiting for?”

“I asked her if she knew where the keys were. She told me and I got them, let her out.” Blake’s fingers flicked dismissively at the water. “That’s when the worst of it sunk in.”

A pit without a bottom, with every turn this story had taken. “How so?”

“Fitcher owned all of these companies, right? If he wanted to make a Faunus appear human, he could do it in a night, and for free. I watched her step out of the cage and she looked half-starved but she had the tail of a full-fledged lioness, with that true golden fur you don’t see anymore, and eyes as bright as mine.”

Reaching back, slow as not to startle, Weiss thread her fingers through Blake’s dark hair until she found velvet-lined ears. Tender strokes eased the tension there, touching the fur with as much care as the scars, as the bare skin she had already cherished and kissed. The sound that emanated from Blake’s throat was wounded, head falling to nestle against her shoulder.

“I’m listening.” Weiss said, and the ear she was rubbing briefly twitched.

“He’d left her intact because he never wanted to forget she was Faunus, because he wanted an animal.” Blake’s voice collapsed to a whisper, a desperate rasp. “And I killed her too.”

Her hand stilled, horror thrumming through her veins in a kneejerk pulse. “Blake…why? Because she saw—”

“No, not because she was a witness.” The rough huff against her nape made Weiss shudder. “By that point, I didn’t care. She asked me to.”

Grappling with that left Weiss dazed for a good minute. “She  _asked_  you?”

“First, I offered to let her take a shower, find some clothes. We ended up rifling through all of Fitcher’s wardrobes and found something she liked. Then we went downstairs to get something to eat, since…” Blake’s laugh was closer to a bitter cough. “…we were both hungry, for different reasons.”

Presumably with the councilman’s corpse left to cool on the floor. Morbid amusement alleviated some of the ambient dread woven through the tale. A little. “Did she have a name?”

“No. Well, yes, but it was the name Fitcher called her, so she asked me not to say it.” Weiss nodded, watching the slow drift of Blake’s hands through the water, searching yet grasping nothing. “I made her breakfast and we talked for hours, almost until the sun came up.”

“I—” Frowning, she hoped it wasn’t imprudent to say, “I don’t understand how one thing led to the other.”

“She’d been in his house for over ten years, Weiss. Forced to any whim he had. Fitcher chose her because she had no family, no spouse, no children — no one who would report her missing. Even if I’d given her money, chances were it’d get taken or worse. She’d be free game on the street for the first human who realized it, and Faunus shelters can’t afford to take in anyone who doesn’t work. The quarries would hire anyone, but her body was weak, the Dust would eat her up. Before you changed things, it was just a different kind of death sentence.”

“But the White Fang—” Weiss hesitated, but the implication was already hanging in the air, “—couldn’t she have been with you?”

“In the White Fang, she’d have had two choices — be mine or be anyone’s. No one would give a stranger a real job, or teach her a trade. They’d be liable. You’re either born into the family or you’re already good at something and get recruited.” For a moment, the ink along Blake’s wrists appeared liquid, black and twisting under the tiny waves every shift of their bodies made. “If she was in the Fang’s custody, she’d be pimped out by the first officer who wanted some money on the side or got bored.”

“And with you?” Bracing herself for the answer, Weiss’ hand withdrew, fingertips piercing the water for lack of aught else to do. To touch, to distract, seemed unfair.

“She’d be a target. Anyone who wanted to hurt me, piss me off, or punish me, they’d find her first. Attacking another officer gets you killed or stripped of rank, but  _accidents happen to whores all the time, don’t they_?”

Whoever Blake was quoting, she didn’t care to ask. “Is that why you weren’t with anyone when we met?”

“Partly. I’d find someone when I wanted a good time, but it was never a long-term arrangement. Permanent.” The Faunus’ silver bracelet glimmered beneath the surface of the water, its miniscule lock draped low like an anchor. “She could tell that about me, she said. Told me to save up enough money to retire and spoil some pretty girl.”

“You succeeded on one front.” Weiss replied. “Two, if you count the retirement.”

“No one ever told me to find a rich girl. Clearly I was looking in the wrong place.” Blake murmured, quiet but sincere. “Her problem what that everywhere was the wrong place. All of the lines in her life just…converged. No matter the path, it was going to lead to the same end. The only thing I could give her was the choice of how and when.”

Altogether, the pieces fit into a terrible sort of sense, but made it no less horrific. “What did she ask you to do?”

“She finished breakfast, and we washed the dishes together. It sounds silly, but she said she didn’t want to leave a mess. Then she sat down, pushed her hair back, and told me she was ready. I came up behind her and,” beneath the water, Blake’s hands wrenched in an unmistakable gesture, “I made sure her pulse was gone, laid her head down on the table. Then I went and strung up Fitcher because I wanted everyone to see what I’d done. Adam was outraged.”

Weiss’ mouth formed a tight moue of distaste. “And why was that?”

“Because it was supposed to be a clean kill. Like a political rival had done it, maybe, or a break-in gone wrong. Leaving him to hang was flashy, too complicated for an amateur.” Blake scoffed. “But they never blamed us in the end, because the cops found her at the table. Why would the White Fang kill a helpless, unarmed Faunus? One who didn’t even fight back.”

There were no words. No possible combination to console, assuage that last haunted, bitter utterance. Nonetheless, Weiss offered the only ones she had. “I’m sorry.”

“So was I. That was the breaking point.” One heartbeat stretched out to ten, counted by the stuttered rise and fall of Blake’s chest. “For a while, I thought about taking myself out too, but then I met Cinder and she scared the hell out of me. The fact that I was scared, though, that I felt something that wasn’t empty, said it was time to leave the White Fang instead, even if it ended up killing me anyway.”

She knew the rest, had lived it, survived it. The sacrifice was greater than Weiss could truly fathom, but here they were together, ten steps past the impossible. There were other matters yet to attend to, but those could be set aside for now.

Turning on her knees, Weiss faced Blake, saw the tears unshed in golden eyes. Exhausted but still daring to hope, swollen with yearning. The Knight could have cut for hours and never divined this weakness; it wasn’t something to be plumbed and carved out, only offered up freely. Trust split the Faunus open under her stare, and the next words fell from Weiss’ lips unbidden, by instinct.

“I love you so much.”

Those eyes widened before Blake’s mouth shaped the answer like a quiet, broken prayer. “I love you too.”

Weiss drew the Faunus to her chest in a full embrace and held tight, stifling each sob as it arose, tears falling invisibly into the water. How long they remained in the bath, she couldn’t say, but eventually it grew tepid, and then cold. No regret lingered between them, no sorrow, no fear, no sound but their hearts colliding in unison.

—

The rest of the day passed with the simple mechanics of recovery — food, water, sleep, and checking Blake’s healing to ensure nothing regressed. Cinder insisted it wouldn’t, and by the morning she was proven right. Were there photos to compare, it would seem as if a month had been written into the Faunus’ flesh overnight, leaving the panel of scars stiff but solid, bearing the steady pressure of Weiss’ hand without pain or complaint. The back room they were relegated to possessed a lesser bed than Cinder’s quarters, but they slept facing one another, limbs tightly interlocked, and it was difficult to care about details like the threadcount of the sheets.

Junior’s clothes fit Blake like a glove after a bout of expert tailoring. It didn’t hurt that they shared a similar style and taste in colors, although Weiss was partial to more expensive fabrics when furnishing the Faunus’ wardrobe. Still, she took some pleasure tucking a woven tie into Blake’s vest and watching quick, practiced hands return dark hair to its tight, customary braid. A sense of normalcy returned in such subtle movements, if one could ever be assigned to their lives.

News from the Schnee manor was incredibly sparse, despite Cinder’s around-the-clock surveillance. Servants came and went as always, but there were no visits or calls to or from the police, nothing printed in the media about Weiss’ absence. She was amused by a gossip rag claiming she was on a private cruise, but lacking photos or an interview to manipulate, the SDC wasn’t anywhere near front page news. Without confirmation of her death, Silberne couldn’t act without drawing suspicion, and even Baum’s internal scheming was paralyzed amidst the ambiguity.

Weiss kept a careful eye on her scroll, ensuring none of the incoming calls or messages were too important to be ignored. The executive board had been told, however last minute, that she was taking a week of vacation starting the day she and Blake went to the courthouse, and the company was a well-oiled machine. Without a crisis or quarterly review unfolding, her constant presence wasn’t necessary to keep things in order.

Cinder herself was practically a phantom, flitting in and out at will. By the third time the older woman reappeared as if from nowhere, Weiss was convinced there were hidden passages secreted around the club. Rumors about the impending collapse of the White Fang were relayed by the hour, although Cinder took most of the information privately. Nowhere in the slew of calls was there a repairman for the bedroom door, even if the room itself had been rearranged, the mess swept away to elsewhere.

A second offer of remuneration was refused just like the first, with Cinder quipping, “I’m well aware of the consequences when it comes to laying down with cats, darling.”

Adam’s sword was presented to Blake once all the other trivialities were dealt with, but after a moment of holding the bared blade, the Faunus asked for some time alone. Cinder acquiesced with grace and Weiss had retired with her to the lounge, accepting a glass of wine despite the early hour. The vintage was remarkably sweet, carrying the last remnants of spring fruits before the season broke forth once more.

“Have you made a decision yet?” Cinder asked, and prompted with a questioning cant of Weiss’ head, added, “about your father.”

Simple as asking for the salt. Weiss cradled her wine, stealing another contemplative sip before replying, “I don’t think you’d believe any answer I could give.”

“Perhaps not.” Cinder’s elbow brushed hers as the older woman passed her own glass from one hand to the other. “Although that wouldn’t make you any less sincere.”

“Does it truly matter?” Balancing the conversation while keeping an ear open for the sound of Blake snapping anything in two was a delicate procedure. “I fear your game is longer than mine.”

“Ah, but you have so many more years left to spare.” That made Weiss frown, and Cinder’s laugh was light as a caress. “I haven’t unlocked the secret to immortality yet, my sweet, regardless of appearances.”

“I would have believed it, had you said as such.” She admitted, taking in the honed angles of Cinder’s face, the plush details of youth that remained just enough to offset them. Untarnished and vibrant, like a wayward goddess exiled to live among mortals unaware.

“Such flattery.” One hand encircled Weiss’ wrist, vermillion nails pressed right against the pulse there as her arm was directed, ring raised to be examined in the low light. “If I’d known Blake proposed, I might have sought another night with you before the nuptials.”

A faint rush of heat flared up Weiss’ face, although her cheeks didn’t color. “Were you unsatisfied with the first?”

“No.” Their arms fell in unison, Cinder’s fingers sliding between hers, loosely laced. What coincidence would it have taken for their lives to become inexorably bound together, rather than such rare, precious intersections? In another life, Weiss could picture it, cast in deep and unrelenting red. “Not in the least.”

But she had made her choice, again and again and again. “Then I would not spoil the memory with a lesser echo of it.”

She was different now, as was Blake. Some lines crossed could not be undone or scratched out, and Weiss wasn’t sure if any amount of gratitude would convince the Faunus to allow such liberties again. Yet — yet —  _yet_ — a sudden longing pierced Cinder’s countenance, stripping away all façade, any sign of pretense, and Weiss could swear her heart stuttered. In that fleeting moment, the shift of power was less like the exchange of titles and more like sand tilting to the opposite side of an hourglass. At any second, it could withdraw and slip from sight.

The kiss they shared was brief, if not wholly chaste. Cinder’s mouth gave against hers, accepting the warmth and affection without chains or promise. That may have been a sting in and of itself, but when Weiss gently withdrew, the flutter of pain had been soothed, buried back beneath the surface.

“I may consider asking,” she said lightly, “for an anniversary. Or a birthday.”

“Only if you find it prudent.” Cinder demurred, returning to her wine with some gusto before her expression turned serious. “I would not have you jeopardizing your relationship with Blake for my sake. That bond is…irreplaceable.”

“And priceless.” Weiss whispered under her breath.

The heavy cadence of footsteps gave them both a start, carrying from far down the hall. It could be Blake and no one else giving deliberate warning of approach; the Faunus’ feet were always silent unless willed otherwise. Cinder’s amusement was telegraphed with a smile, the mild shake of her head.

“I daresay we’ve been caught.” The older woman said, teeth catching on a laugh.

“I daresay you’d like to be.” Weiss replied, rising to meet Blake at the door. She was nearly to the threshold when she hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. “How much did you pay Ruby and Yang to find me?”

“Oh.” Cinder blinked. “Ten thousand Lien a piece. I believe that’s the industry standard for a high-risk, one night job.”

“Good to know.” The Faunus came into her periphery, holding Adam’s sword. Surprisingly, it looked intact. “Are you going to keep that, my love?”

“It would be rude to refuse a gift,” Blake said, eyes cast over her head towards Cinder, “especially one so hard-won.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Weiss saw the same fingers that had clasped hers adjust that ashen scarf. “I’d never accuse you of having manners, Blake.”

“For which I’m grateful.” Blake replied dryly.

Some things hadn’t changed. “Reluctant as I am to end this _riveting_  banter, I’d like to go out to the bar.”

“Junior’s at your disposal.” Cinder said, folding her hands in her lap, “but mind the hour.”

“We won’t slip the leash.” Weiss linked her arm with Blake’s, turning out towards the hall. “Not yet, anyway.”

As she had hoped, the huntresses were still present. If they had stayed the night, Weiss couldn’t say, but Ruby and Yang were settled in the largest booth in the club like it was their own, and they had company. Melanie and Miltia were on either side of the blonde, a half-empty pitcher of beer set between matched martini glasses on the table in front of them. Ruby had the other half of the booth to herself, along with one of Melanie’s shoes. The weapon was completely dismantled, bladed heel set next to small armored plates, and by the look of the polished barrels and spring Ruby had next to her tools, she was planning on giving it a bit more firepower.

“Are you sure I should be here?” Blake asked, low and soft. The crowd kept them concealed from view, for now.

“Cinder told me they were inseparable.” Weiss tightened her grasp on the Faunus’ arm. “So are we.”

They were halfway through the crush of patrons when Yang caught on, idle cheer replaced with a hard glare. Weiss stopped at the edge of the table, finding the irritation had tripled with Melanie and Miltia’s help, refracted by arrogance and dismissal. Ruby hadn’t paid a whit of attention to their approach, focusing through a handheld loupe at a pair of stripped, miniscule screws. Had she been anyone else, Weiss might have balked, but this was far from the most dangerous negotiation she had attempted, especially with Blake at her side.

“I have a proposal for you, if you care to listen.” Weiss began.

“Doesn’t involve Blake getting naked again, does it?” Yang quipped, one hand giving Miltia’s shoulder a light squeeze. The other seemed to be in Melanie’s custody under the table. “I’m taken.”

“So I see.” Nonplussed, Weiss gestured to the deck of cards resting next to the pitcher of beer. “We can play a game during, if you like.”

“Yang’s poker face is terrible.” Miltia cut in with a smile.

“To be fair,” Melanie interjected, “you definitely cheat.”

That earned a pout from her twin, but Yang laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to Miltia’s brow, taking obvious pride in the blush that arose, matching some of the tones in her dress. “I wouldn’t stack the deck against White Fang, would you?”

“I’m retired.” Blake said coolly.

“I’d say you’re the only real one left, considering.” Nonetheless, Yang conceded the point with a shrug. “Want a drink, shadowcat? You can pick your poison. Cinder even lets me snatch from her private stock.”

“I’ve had that pleasure already.” The Faunus countered, and Weiss held her breath. “But if you give us a seat, I can guarantee it’ll be worth your while.”

Ruby finally glanced up from her work. The barrel attachment was coming along nicely, positioned on either side of the blade so a hard tap of the heel could fire or reload, depending on the pressure. Weiss was impressed with the delicate engineering of the trigger; not everyone had a knack for weapon design, especially when it came to modifications.

“Let them sit down, Yang.” Ruby said, taking a sip from her own drink, which was tinged a particular shade of pink. Rose water and gin, if Weiss wasn’t mistaken, with slices of strawberry pushed to the top of the glass by a light fizz. “You were just bragging about the rescue anyway.”

All the heat and hard edges deflated from Yang’s posture, replaced by a wave of embarrassment. “Alright, alright. Sit.”

For caution’s sake, Weiss slid into the booth first, putting another degree of separation between the blonde and Blake. Miltia gave her a faintly appraising look and then smiled, pleased by whatever judgment was made. She had to wonder if either twin remembered seeing her years before, or if the occasion was too minor in their eyes to care.

“So what’s the proposal?” Yang asked, watching as Melanie refilled her pint and slid it into reach. From the way the beer was casually gulped down, nursing it seemed to be more for the sake of habit than taste.   

“I know Cinder paid you to find me.” After receiving a small nod from both huntresses, Weiss added, “how much?”

Ruby and Yang shared a look and it was clear they were silently debating whether or not to lie. There was a reason she had asked Cinder first.

“Ten thousand Lien a piece.” Ruby answered. “Although I would have done it for free. We don’t usually get called in when people are alive to save.”

The comment was almost disarmingly sincere, but Weiss could find no reason to doubt it. Cunning and guile could be two sides of the same coin, but she suspected Ruby possessed far more of the former than the latter. “Ten thousand.”

“Wasn’t exactly on the books, but yeah.” Yang said.

She hadn’t planned on voicing her offer with Melanie and Miltia present, but it wasn’t as if she expected Cinder not to know within the hour. Now she just had to pray Blake’s composure held in turn.

“I’ll pay you both ten million to escort me and Blake back to the manor tomorrow. By car, with one of you driving.”

Shock foreshadowed a long silence. Yang stared straight at her, while Ruby started to frown, head tilted in confusion. Even the twins, who had to be used to the heady numbers Cinder tossed around in her investments, were doing a poor job of concealing their surprise. Blake, on the other hand, had only raised one brow the slightest degree, and for that, Weiss was unduly grateful.

“Ten _million_?” Yang’s voice fell to just above a whisper, barely audible over the nearby crowd and music.

“Yes.” Weiss said, leaving no room for doubt in her tone. “Or is that not enough?”

“You could hire Atlas’ entire army for that much money.” Ruby murmured.

Setting aside her distaste for General Ironwood’s politics, that would still attract far too much attention. “That’s beside the point.”

A mix of  _why us_  and _just to drive_? collided in the air from each sister, but it was Yang who managed to repeat herself first. “Just to drive you, what, an hour? That’s more than most hunters could ever dream of in a lifetime.”

“I’m aware.” Turning her attention to Ruby, Weiss said, “and to answer your question, it’s because you’ve already proved your competence and know my affiliations. Neither are easily purchased.”

Brushing a lock of red hair from her face, Ruby frowned. “I don’t even know what I’d do with that kind of money.”

“Whatever you like, as long as you don’t discuss its origin.”

“Dad could really use a new place on Patch.” Yang murmured, but wariness emerged in violet eyes, edged with a tinge of red. “What’s the hook?”

“After dropping us off, you will forget we ever met, including the circumstances of our first meeting. You won’t discuss it with press, family, or anyone besides Cinder, should that for some reason become necessary.” Weiss drew in a soft breath before hammering the next words in. “You will not contact me, Blake, or anyone associated with my company, be they employees or relatives under  _any_  circumstance.”

“And if we did?” Ruby asked.

“Whether it’s written, coded, or whispered, then our relationship will be severed with every bit of prejudice I can muster. That extends to anyone I believe you might have informed.”

She waited for the accusation that she wouldn’t — or couldn’t — do such a thing, but it never came. Instead Ruby and Yang shared a look, longer than the first, and Weiss wondered if there was a telepathic Semblance between one of them, or if it was simply the fact that hunters who spent years together usually saw a fusion of their Aura, leaving something salient behind. The soul knew the familiar, bonded amidst brushes with death.

“Just to drive,” Ruby said, echoing her sister’s words, “nothing else?”

“Driving directly from the club to my home. No surveillance, no extraction, no wetwork. If we’re attacked in transit, I’d expect you to come to our aid, but the chance of anyone being prepared for our arrival is very low.” At least, she hoped so.

“We—” Yang bit her lip.” —we need a little while to take this over, okay?”

“Of course.” Weiss nudged Blake’s thigh, encouraging the Faunus to stand. “You have until midnight. After that point, I’ll find an alternative.”

Doubt rippled through Yang’s face, just as she expected. “It’s probably a yes. We just want to figure out the logistics.”

“If you have any questions, Blake and I will be here.” Before turning away, Weiss said, “your payment will be be given to you by Cinder. Tax-free, of course.”

With that, she started to lead their steps to the back wall of the club, avoiding the dance floor while edging towards the actual bar. The moment they were out of earshot, Blake muttered, “that was a yes.”

“I know.” Weiss replied, locking eyes with Junior over the counter. He quickly started clearing the glasses there to free up some seats.

“Hell of a gamble.” The Faunus settled on the far barstool, taking the ice water Junior offered a moment later.

“I can’t be outbid.” To her, Junior presented a menu, and she started to scan the selection. “It’s just a matter of what the price is.”

“Boss is going to want to see you.” Junior interrupted, even if his attention was visibly directed towards scrubbing a dirty pitcher.

“Why?” Weiss frowned.

“She’s got that look on her face.” He gestured with a bob of his head to the front door.

Weiss cast a surreptitious glance to her left, and golden eyes followed until she and Blake both found Cinder, who was talking to a young woman with a pair of bladed revolvers strapped to her back. She had dark skin and hair the color of mint, but under the flash of the club lights, her eyes glittered with the sheen of fresh blood. Cinder was listening to her speak, arms tightly crossed.

“Who is that?” Blake asked.

“Emerald Sustrai.” Junior said, taking the menu back when when Weiss pushed it across the bar. “She’s eyes and ears.”

“Is it good news?” She couldn’t see Cinder’s expression, not from this angle.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “Usually bad news gets given in the back. What would you like?”

Tension pulsed between her shoulder blades. The slight vibration of the counter from the constant pumping bass wasn’t helping. “I’ll wait.”

The answer came quickly enough. Cinder glanced over one shoulder and caught Weiss’ eye, beckoning with the slant of her head.

“I’ll stay.” Blake murmured. “I’m keeping an eye on the booth.”

“Alright.” She pressed a kiss to the Faunus’ cheek before slipping off the barstool.

Emerald and Cinder were conversing in a quick, lilting tongue Weiss didn’t recognize as she approached. It came to a halt as she did, a greeting given with the press of the older woman’s palm at the small of her back.

“This is Emerald, Weiss.” Cinder beamed with no small amount of pride. “She spearheaded the surveillance on your estate.”

Weiss raised a brow. “Is that in past tense?”

“My partner is still there.” Emerald said. “But there hasn’t been any movement beyond your father picking up a prescription for painkillers.”

“And as it turns out, my groundwork has been laid early.” There were a hundred things that could mean, but Weiss knew better than to ask. “As such, you’re welcome to leave in the morning rather than tomorrow evening.”

“Neo said that—” Cinder’s stare hardened and Emerald’s jaw snapped shut. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Not in front of the masses, darling.” The chiding was light, but it didn’t reach the older woman’s eyes. “Did you employ your bribe successfully, Weiss?”

“I believe so.” A brief look at the VIP booth confirmed Ruby and Yang were still there, now scribbling on a piece of paper between them.

“Good.” Cinder tucked a single pale strand back behind her ear, ending with a flourish down the line of her jaw. Weiss suppressed a shiver. “You should relax for the rest of the night. Tomorrow promises to be a very long day.”

Reaching up for the chain around her throat, Weiss’ fingers tightened around around the apple charm there, the tiny key. Her mother and Blake, the halves of her heart. When she looked back at the Faunus, playing along in a conversation with Junior, the metal of both bit deep into her palm.

“Indeed it does.” Weiss whispered.

And the ring on her finger felt so very heavy.

—

Ruby had taken the driver’s seat after a brief argument outside the car.

Initially, Weiss didn’t have a preference for either sister, but after an extensive list of Yang’s previous speeding violations, it was hard not to err towards Ruby’s side. Apparently the younger huntress had a penchant for speed as well, but her driving record was spotless, and for a matter like this, discretion was paramount. Weiss surrendered the keys Cinder had given her, tied to a sleek burgundy sportscar, and slipped into the back seat with Blake.

The Faunus practically blended into the rich leather seats, cast in as perfect a black as she had ever seen. Weiss took the center so she could lean on Blake’s shoulder, giving Ruby a cursory set of directions before pulling out her scroll. A single message flashed on the screen, and she opened it.

“What are you doing?” Blake asked, undercut by the start of the engine before it quieted to a smooth purr.

“Tearing out some bricks.” Weiss said, sending back a reply with a few quick taps of her fingers.

Enough to bury Baum for life, or so it happened.

An arm slid protectively around her shoulder and Weiss relaxed into the warm press of muscle, taking comfort in familiar scent and heat alike. It was worth every reckless bargain to hear that the solid beat of the Faunus’ heart, even if Blake thrummed with tension. Adam’s sword was splayed across both legs, the tip of the bare blade resting over her knee, blunt and warped. She had returned Myrtenaster to her hip this morning after they dressed, helping Blake adjust the hard pack that bore Gambol Shroud over a new vest. The overcoat borrowed from Junior’s closet kept the weapon hidden from view, and had the unintended effect of transforming the Faunus’ already broad shoulders into a solid, implacable wall.

There was soft chatter from the front half of the car as Yang fussed with the radio before declaring that every available selection was garbage. Ruby’s laugh was soft and sympathetic, insisting she could hook up her scroll to the speakers, but Yang refused, slouching back in her seat and propping up one knee against the dashboard. Where appearances may have diverged, the complement of their personalities was clear; every flare of anger or irritation assuaged by the flutter of silver eyes, a smile drawn out whenever Yang cracked a tasteless joke.

“I have a question, if you would.” Weiss said aloud.

Turning past the barrier of the passenger seat to look over her shoulder, Yang nodded. “Shoot.”

“Why is it that you accepted my offer?”

Blonde brows scrunched together. “You wanted us to take the money, didn’t you?”

“My desires and yours aren’t necessarily in sync.” Another message popped up on her scroll and Weiss scanned the attachment, saving it directly to the device. “You could have sought a different bidder, considering the information you possess.”

“I’m not that stupid. Cinder might run the streets, but you own Dust. No one makes it a week in the wild without ammunition.” Violet eyes averted towards the driver’s side. “Ruby—”

“You can tell her.” Ruby said, showing as the needle on the speedometer crept over eighty. The engine barely hummed. “It’s not like it’s illegal.”

Settling back into her seat, Yang shrugged. “It’s for our dad.”

Weiss did her level best to conceal her surprise, but even Blake’s mouth twitched into a small frown. “Is he ill?”

“No, nothing like that.” Ruby murmured.

“He’s not a hunter. Did plenty of odd jobs when we were kids, finally set up a maintenance shop in the garage. Lots of folks on Patch have boats, fishing equipment, Grimm traps. Whatever it is, he’ll fix it.” Drumming her fingers against the door, Yang sighed. “Never made much, though. We send back a lot of money.”

“And if anything happens to us—” Ruby began.

“—he won’t have a damn thing left.” Yang finished. “We don’t get retirement. He won’t either. You put enough on the table to take care of us for life, no matter what happens. It’ll give him something to hold on to.”

There was a good deal to unravel in the last remark, but Weiss was more stunned than anything else. “All of this is for him?”

“It’s just a drive, right?” Jabbing a thumb towards the wheel, Yang let out a low laugh. “And I’m kicking back.”

Blake’s arm tightened its hold and Weiss took the prompt to shut off her scroll, allowing her gaze to drift past tinted glass to the fading cityscape. They weren’t in familiar territory yet, each building indistinguishable from the next, and going far too fast for the holographic signs to be read. A thousand gray, stark monoliths, yet she could be sure every one of them had been constructed by virtue of the Schnee Dust Company; it was needed for demolition, for tools, for fusing steel and stone. If Vale was laid bare, stripped of its flesh, her family name would be inscribed on the industrial skeleton underneath.

She couldn’t even be sure if Ruby and Yang’s father was of their blood. Cinder had said they were born of different mothers, but perhaps he had adopted one or the other, or sired them while with both women. The particulars didn’t matter, but whoever this man was, his daughters used the opportunity of a lifetime to preserve his well-being, offering a secure and peaceful future. Had they thought of themselves for even a moment?

Who could such a father be? Could Silberne have ever inspired the same kindness, or was it not in his rigid nature? Weiss could count the years in which she did not either hate or fear him on one hand, and all of them were in tandem with her mother’s presence, cast over the memories like a shroud. Isabelline silk and white hair, pale fingers that cradled everything with care; hands that were infinitely steady. There was only one occasion where she recalled her mother ever dropping something — a wineglass emptied the night before — and rather than anger or upset, there was a laugh like the joyous rise of chimes. The assistance of the maids was refused, each piece of glass picked up by hand while she was warned to be careful walking by.

It seemed like an insult to stitch such a false portrait together, imagining what it would have been like to be raised with a sister, with her mother’s hands guiding them both. The threads of cruelty existed in Silberne’s heart from the beginning, pulled to the surface by his wife’s death, but even though he treated her with kindness, he had still regarded thousands of people as animals, sat down at the dinner table with a smile and blood yet to dry on his hands.

“We’re getting close.” Blake said softly.

They were. Weiss knew these roads, flanked by a deep traverse of woods weighed down by snow and frost. The needles and leaves were nearly black in this season, those that didn’t fall earlier in the year now soaked and frozen, held in frigid suspension. What few animals didn’t burrow themselves deep into the earth or trees were free prey for wandering Grimm, who often vented their frustration when the chill sent all but the most devoted of hunters closer to the hearth of the cities. Thankfully, the despair of travelers was rarely potent enough to lure the dark beasts onto salt-drenched asphalt.

“When we arrive at the gates, be sure to pull forward to my window.” Weiss said, fingers seeking beneath Blake’s coat to press against the scarred side, ensuring nothing had bled through. Perhaps soon, she wouldn’t feel the instinctive need. “If security doesn’t identify you as a Schnee, the results may be unpleasant.”

“A fully automated turret system?” Ruby asked. “Or it one of those web grids that locks your car in place and shocks the hell out of you?”

“The latter,” Weiss admitted, “I’ve found that bullets aren’t incredibly reliable.”

The winding path to the main gate was empty, without evidence of lurking guards or police. In fact, the only sign that anyone had approached it at all since they had left was the scouring left by plows, stopping just short of the towering iron barrier. After giving Blake’s hand a quick squeeze, she extricated herself from the Faunus’ embrace and flipped the cartridge in Myrtenaster’s barrel to black. Ruby eased off the gas, slowing to a stop right at the gate and clicking the button to lower Weiss’ window.

“Present your retinas, please.” The center of the security hologram pulsed with each word, as if it was truly speaking.  “Compliance is mandatory—”

“Scan.” Weiss ordered.

It beeped and let out a compliant hum. “Welcome home, Ms. Schnee.”

Weiss let out a slow breath. The remote possibility that her father had locked her out of the system lingered like a stone in her gut, but it seemed Silberne’s doubt stalled proper forethought, just as she had gambled. She was exhausted of  _might_  and  _maybe_  and _perhaps_ , the anxious in-between.

“To the front of the house, please.” Weiss said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Then you’re free to leave. Cinder has your money.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to idle for a bit?” Yang asked, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. “In case something—”

“In five minutes, you’ll have to forget you know me at all, Ms. Xiao Long. There’s no need for such sentiment.” She could see the manor now, heavy columns flanking its wide entryway and decorative glass. “But before that, you and your sister have my thanks. Would that we have met under proper circumstances.”

“We’ve never been much for proper circumstances.” Ruby noted quietly.

The car came to a stop. Blake had the door open before the gear was set, one hand grasping Adam’s sword and the other reaching out for her. Weiss accepted and stepped out into the cutting winter air, closing her eyes before pushing the door shut. Steel clicked on steel and they were walking with purpose out of the driveway, locking her eyes on mirrored brass handles.

There was no need to look back; they were half a step from strangers, after all.

“Are you ready?” Blake asked.

“I want Baum handled first.” Weiss replied, hand straying to Myrtenaster’s hilt. “Unless my father’s eschewed all of his habits, I expect he’s eating breakfast.”

Blake punched in the entry code and pulled the door open, slow enough for it to not make a sound. After a quick look, she saw the foyer was empty, and they both stepped inside, closing the door with just as much care. Weiss shuddered at the shift in temperature, the chill leeched from her bones; there was the faint crackle of a fire from one room or another, although this early in the day it wouldn’t be encouraged to a full blaze. The manor was huge; she wasn’t entirely sure where to start.

The answer came to her when the man in question appeared at the end of the hall, hunching over his scroll. Baum cursed and typed as he walked, closing the distance between them until he halted just short of Blake, staring at the Faunus’ shoes until he slowly looked up, blood draining from his face. His fingers had a visible tremble, holding onto the scroll with a desperate and tight grip.

“Good morning, Baum.” After releasing Blake’s hand, Weiss forced a smile to her lips. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He moved to take a step back, only for Adam’s blade to be angled right at his throat. “Don’t.”

“This is supposed to be a civilized conversation,” Weiss chastised, “but that depends on your manners, doesn’t it?”

“Alright.” Baum raised up both hands, managing a weak smile in return. “You can’t blame a man for being concerned when someone comes into a house with weapons drawn.”

“I can, when I’m meant to be your client.” With a faint tilt of her head, Blake lowered the sword a few inches. “Tell me, do my father’s knives scare you as such?”

“Silberne has rarely seen the need to be so well-armed in private.” His scroll beeped, watery blue eyes flickering towards the screen. “I should take that.”

“Give me the scroll.” Blake growled.

It was surrendered with a fragmenting grin, and after the Faunus took one look at the display, the device was shoved into a pocket of the overcoat.

“Your father never intended for you to be captured as well,” Baum began, the words spilling out in a rush, “Weiss, he only wanted to save you from undue influence, from all the White Fang would do to you. You’ve seen it now, haven’t you? How brutal they are?”

“Yes. I have.” Rage narrowed Weiss’ eyes. “Using a knife my father gave them to cut the one I love open. Torturing us in the same room where my uncle was probably murdered, since my father had no use for a greedy brother. And being told that my lawyer provided my financials so I could be found, kidnapped, and then  _put in my place_.”

“Silberne forced—” Baum choked out.

“A man who can barely stand on his own after five years in a coma forced you to betray me? I own this company, this house, and your worthless excuse for a retainer. You have succeeded by my grace and pity that your sister has dealt with you on her coattails for decades, but that is now over.”

He gave a ragged swallow. “Weiss—”

“Shut up.” She snapped. “You defame my name every time you speak it.”

After a tense span of seconds, Baum nodded, the slow crawl of panic winding its way through his body.

“I spoke to her about your indiscretions this morning. I informed your sister that in no uncertain terms that she will be dissolving the firm and stripping you of all rights as a partner. The appropriate kingdom council is receiving documents later today that prove you’ve violated privilege with a recommendation to see you permanently disbarred.” Her smile widened without any encouragement. “In return, I’ve given her the funding to found a new firm in Atlas, one that will never be associated with you or your name.”

“You can’t do that.” Polished teeth clenched, bared by a spark of anger. “She’s my  _family_. Do you think that can be so easily bought out?”

“On the contrary, she seemed to relish the opportunity. Even your own blood knows you’re a bootlicking leech.” The terms had been far more explicit, in fact, but Weiss didn’t see the need to repeat it verbatim. “It’s also come to my attention that you have several outstanding debts to various members of the White Fang. Now that those enterprises have changed hands, I have to wonder how the new owner will seek recompense. Five years unpaid, Baum. That has to be quite the sum of interest stripped out of your hide.”

Under Cinder’s purview, he would be lucky to last a week.

What fraction of bravado Baum managed to summon was snuffed out, leaving his expression hollow, desperate as a rabbit gutted by a trap. “Please—”

Weiss barely dismissed the urge to laugh. “Please? What are you begging for? The mercy you never offered me? I’m giving you the chance to escape with your life, while you sold me to a man who would have beaten me to death at best. Now say thank you.”

A pin dropping could have shattered the silence that followed, were it not for the faint chattering of his teeth, hands clenching and unclenching while damp with sweat. “Thank…you.”

“Now get out of my house and out of my sight.”

He almost struck Blake’s shoulder stumbling past them, gasping an apology before yanking open the door. By the grunt that followed before it shut, Weiss thought he might have slipped on the ice gathering at the edge of the driveway.

“How far do you think he’ll get?” The Faunus mused.

“The outskirts of the capital, maybe, if he sells his watch. Less if he decides to call his sister and beg for forgiveness.” Weiss glanced up to meet golden eyes. “What was on his scroll?”

“A notice about your father’s prescriptions. He requested some pain medication.” Blake replied.

“I’ll have to send a courier to pick that up.” No servant or maid had darted by during their confrontation; likely they were attending Silberne during his meal. “Shall we?”

Pale strands of sunlight sliced through the clouds, casting a cold glow over the marble of the kitchen when they entered. Fresh toast and black coffee filled a tray on the slender counter between the stove and the breakfast nook, tendrils of steam rising into the air. Her father was sitting at the only chair by the window, turned away from the food and a half-empty glass of water by his hand, accompanied by a small arrangement of pills. A few were round, the color and outward consistency of chalk, the rest a sickly opaque green.

“Baum, what were you blathering about for so long?” Silberne muttered. “Was it the police?”

“The police. Did you tell them I was missing?” Weiss asked, stopping half a step behind his chair. “That you feared I was dead?”

“You’re alive.” In the reflection, she watched his eyes close. “Is Baum?”

“For now.” Weiss replied, examining the lines of his shirt and how it fell. Unless he had simply stuffed tubes of Dust into his pockets, it didn’t appear that her father was carrying any sort of weapon.

“I tried to save you.” Silberne scooped the pills into his hand and promptly swallowed them in one go, finishing off his water. “I should have waited to give him the money until I was sure he was at the drop. That was my mistake.”

“Is that the only thing you’re sorry for?” Myrtenaster’s hilt was warm in her hand, palm rasping against smooth metal.

“Did you come home for a confession?” He finally turned in his chair, features gaunt as if they had been carved from wax. Wan and pale, the eyes that matched her own tumultuous as a storm. Clouded, drunk.

Facing him now, Weiss could smell the whiskey, stale and bitter. That explained why the tray left behind was so suitable for a hangover. “I know your crimes. You left very thorough records.”

“Not like the assassin beside you.” Silberne sneered at Blake. “They used to say you left no bodies behind because you ate them. Filthy scavenger.”

If he was expecting a response, none was given. The Faunus simply glanced her way and Weiss’ thumb unhooked Myrtenaster from her hip.

“Undignified last words, Father.” She announced, bringing the blade up with a flick of her wrist.

A centimeter from his throat, Blake’s fingers caught her arm, gripping so tight Weiss knew it would bruise. Her eyes went wide with shock as the tip of the rapier just pierced Silberne’s skin, a drop of blood bubbling to the surface. The Faunus pressed up against her back, the flat of Adam’s sword pinning her hips so she couldn’t pull away.

“Blake—” It was a plea, a prayer, twisting in Weiss’ throat.

“If you kill him here, you’ll regret it.” The words were breathed against her skin, too faint to be named a whisper. “There’s a dozen servants in this house who’ve seen him. The cook just made his breakfast. Scrubbing out his blood will take hours, so will disposing of his body. Hours for witnesses to find us, to call the police. Others that will have to die or be paid off, and that conspiracy will let him haunt you for the rest of your life without having to lift a finger.”

Weiss felt like she had just been struck, ears ringing. It was akin to the first time a bomb exploded beside her, the edges of the world white with adrenaline. She wasn’t being stopped, merely delayed.

“A retired old man can die a thousand ways. He slips and falls, he takes too much of the wrong medication.” Blake’s fingers relaxed around her wrist, massaging the faint indentation left behind. “Cast him away. Let him be chased into the grave.”

Weiss felt herself released, taking a deep breath to prevent from staggering. Lowering Myrtenaster felt like casting aside ten tons. Would she have succeeded or would she have hesitated with the blade halfway through his throat, watched her father gag on his own blood until it expired across the floor?

“You will never set foot in this house again.” She said, forcing her voice steady. “Even in death, you will not be buried here. You will never touch what’s mine again. What I love, what I possess.  _Nothing_. Be grateful Blake’s head runs cooler than my own.”

Silberne swallowed, blood sluggishly dripping to the hollow in his throat. “Why would a Faunus care to save my life?”

“I’m not the one to ask.” Weiss said.

He inclined his head towards Blake, eyes narrowing. “Well?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” There was a faint smile, lacking any signs of a lie. “I want you to wake up every morning to the truth that I’m married to your daughter. That she’ll change the world without an ounce of deference to your desires or reputation, that she’ll take the company you built on generations of Faunus blood and help us rise back to where we deserve.”

Disgust flared and was quickly spent before her father’s jaw clenched. “Am I to be turned out onto the street, then?”

“As fodder for the media to feast on?” Weiss scoffed. “No. You are going to quietly but publicly retire and leave for the house we keep on the coast. After that, you will refuse all interviews, spoken or written. I’ll send all your books with you. You’ve been complaining for years that you’ve never had the time to read them.”

“In exile.” Silberne spat.

“With a small stipend to spend on your needs and entertainment.” With every device monitored, every communication traced. “Away from such distractions, I believe you’ll have a much clearer head, Father. Don’t you?”

“Would that your sister had survived,” he growled, eyes dark with rage, “and I had a true heir to my name.”

“Would that my  _mother_  had survived and seen what a monster you’ve become.” Weiss hissed back. “Perhaps, if she had left, you might have had a whit of self-awareness. Or would you have spurned her for not bending to your will?”

“I am not a tyrant!” Silberne roared, getting to his feet.

He staggered, knees about to give before catching himself at the last second. A body moving with its last moments of breath, a walking corpse. Weiss could see nothing else, now that the line had been drawn.

“No, not anymore.” She had to look up to meet his eyes, but there was nothing intimidating there, only a shell. “Just a pathetic old man.”

“Sit down.” Blake ordered, low and cold.

After a moment, her father stiffly obeyed, and Weiss smiled.

“I’ll have the servants start packing your things. You can make a list, if you wish.” Weiss reached out to Blake, their fingers entwined. “Would you like some coffee, my love?”

The Faunus returned the smile, bright with both mirth and pride. “Please.”

—

_Three Weeks Later_

“—the market was given a shock early this morning as Weiss Schnee, current CEO of Schnee Dust Company, announced that the corporation is implementing a scheme that will provide Dust subsidies to councils that pass laws enforcing Faunus equality. This plan was outlined on six fronts — equal wages, lowering unemployment, protection in welfare and housing, the right to vote, and restoration of historical lands — and that any council, from village to kingdom level, that shows significant progress on these fronts will be eligible to purchase Dust at a much lower rate.”

The announcer shuffled her papers at the bottom of the screen, clearing her throat.

“Councilman Woodencloak stated that the SDC’s plan is tantamount to blackmail, as all four kingdoms are utterly reliant on Dust, and in this time of increased Grimm activity, reserves are at an all-time low. Quote, ‘ _Pushing to give criminals and the bottom rungs of society housing and jobs in human settlements during a time of war should be considered nothing less than treason_.’ Our network attempted to contact Silberne Schnee, the former CEO, at his retirement home on Patch, but all calls were refused. The head council in Vale has already voiced their support of the plan—”

When the door to her office swung open, Weiss tapped the mute button on her scroll, silencing the screen. Blake passed over the threshold and stretched both arms high, muscle flush with sweat and exertion. The Faunus’ tank top was soaked through, clinging at the edge of defined hips, and she suddenly felt her mouth go dry, forgetting about the dozens of media outlets waiting for callbacks and the prepared remarks she was writing for them. She’d spent the entire day in here since the announcement, braced for the fallout, but Blake had just toppled the weight from her shoulders.

“I was at the end of my workout when I remembered I had a wife, somewhere.” A smirk bared white teeth. “Took me forever to try and track her down. Any ideas?”

“I’m working.” Weiss demurred, although she didn’t protest when Blake approached her desk, picking up the file on the top.

“On what, mm?” The folder was flipped open. “Digoxin? That’s powerful stuff.”

“Put that away.” Standing up from her seat, Weiss came around the desk, taking the file from Blake’s hand and tossing it aside. “Every reporter and their mother desperately wishes I would pick up my line.”

“I wonder why.” With their bodies so close together, she was breathless the moment the Faunus pushed her back against the hard wooden edge. “If I knew traitors got such good sound-bites, I would have come out years ago.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Her fingers found the ribbon in Blake’s braid, slipping it free so black hair would fall loose and wild. “Don’t distract me.”

Golden eyes shone with lust. “Am I distracting you?”

“Yes. I’m trying to give you a present.” Reaching back to the desk, Weiss found the map she was looking for buried underneath another treatise on heart medicine and raised it to Blake’s face. “Your bloodline record turned up a result in the Vytal archives; an entire plot of land in the west. It’s a gorgeous forest, from the overhead photography.”

The Faunus frowned, taking custody of the map. It was aged but untouched, the sepia ink detailing the borders claimed by the Belladonna clan before the wars of subjugation. They had apparently maintained a fort on the farthest border, dedicated to keeping Grimm from daring near the merchant roads there, with the rest of the land used for hunting and gathering, any excess used for trade. The herbs there were of particular value, suitable for assuaging illness and dire poison alike.

All of that was gone now, save for ruins. Human sappers had destroyed their watchtowers and led soldiers disguised as traders to infiltrate the fort, chasing the Faunus who survived the initial attack out into Grimm-infested copses and groves and leaving them to be slaughtered, but after the war, the roads had fallen into disuse, and eventually disrepair. When Weiss contacted the current owner, she found that he owned a lumberyard in the area that was nearing bankruptcy, and had leapt at her first offer to purchase it.

“What about it?” Blake murmured. “I don’t think my relatives are there anymore, if you wanted to visit.”

“It’s yours.” Weiss said, daring to smile. “If you want it. I have papers ready to be signed with your name.”

The Faunus raised a brow, surprise plain. “I—mine?”

“There may be nothing there now, but I’ll fund the construction of anything you like.” She brought her head up, pressing a kiss to one side of Blake’s mouth. “What do you think?”

“Mm, it sounds like a place to put a hideaway.” Blake replied, returning the kiss until Weiss gasped for breath, but eager for more. “We still haven’t finished our honeymoon.”

Their bed had already been reclaimed a dozen times over, wayward luggage recovered with many apologies from Bella Venezia, but the last few weeks had been one hectic hurdle over the other, with frustration at every turn. Now that she had officially been blacklisted by half the politicians in the kingdoms, it seemed like an appropriate moment to enjoy herself out of the public eye, especially since Cinder had made a few subtle assertions that the boundaries around Vale were about to snap shut. Better that they be away when that occurred, as not to forecast any association.

“It does take time for things to be built.” Weiss said, tugging at the hem of the tank top so she could feel the muscle flex underneath. “Your patience seems to have fled.”

“This isn’t for our honeymoon.” Blake demurred, reaching behind her to push a stack of files and the scroll out of the way, “just a celebration.”

“Would you claim me again?” Fingers tangling in the bracelet around Blake’s wrist, she brought it to her lips and kissed the silver. “Let the world know I’m yours?”

“Again,” Weiss’ back met the desk, skirt pushed up both thighs until it bunched around her hips, “and again.”

Now burying her hands in the Faunus’ hair, she demanded another kiss. “I love you.”

“And I you.” When one hand slid up her stockings, pressed between them, Blake raised a brow at finding nothing there but slick heat. “Were you expecting me?”

“I had a feeling.” Her teeth gave a chastising bite to the Faunus’ lower lip. “If I made you wait long enough.”

“You won’t be answering those calls today.” Blake whispered, the buttons of her shirt popping open with a hard tug.

Weiss laughed, open and joyous. Soon there would be nothing between them but hot breath and blood working its will, pleasure drawn out and exchanged. Soon they would be alone in the wild, celebrating their union. And soon the final piece would fall into place, silencing the pain they both knew.

Of all things, it was a future worth  _living_  for.

—

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends the main arc of Mafia AU. Tell me what you think!


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